


The Trials of Sister Roslyn

by ElJackinton



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Adepta Sororitas - Freeform, Bisexual Female Character, Drug Addiction, F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Military Training, Orks, Sisters of Battle, Theocracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElJackinton/pseuds/ElJackinton
Summary: All Sister Roslyn expected was a quiet life. As a Sister of a long forgotten Convent on a peaceful Agri-World, she assumed her career would involve Harvest Festivals, Weddings and Confessions. However, when The Order of the Weeping Martyr comes calling for recruits, she is given no choice but to become a fully fledged Battle Sister. As Roslyn contends with the order's brutal training regimen, bitter rivalries with her fellow sisters, and the cycles of trauma and abuse that drive the Imperium of Man, she wonders how long she can survive as her destiny draws ever closer: To serve the Emperor on the Battlefield.





	1. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Prologue and Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at https://twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at https://twitter.com/el_jackinton or https://eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .
> 
> The Trials of Sister Roslyn is a story based around Games Workshop's Warhammer 40'000 tabletop setting. However, I have taken certain liberties with it's described backstory in order to, I feel, make the story more interesting. These changes are relatively minor, but I'm listing them here as some people can have a problem with even miniscule changes to established canon.
> 
> The main change is the depiction of Battle Sisters not only being recruited as orphans, but also from other sources as well. Some Sisters are wanton women who have been sent away to be civilised, others are the children of noble families who want the prestige of a family member serving in a pious institution, and other still end up recruited for a variety of reasons. It think having Sisters come from a variety of backgrounds makes them more dynamic, and allows me to draw from a variety of personality types.
> 
> Many depictions of the Sisters of Battle shows them as 100% dedicated to the cause, pious all the time and unwavering in their faith. If any do falter in even a minor way they are punished almost immediately with either death or life in a suicide unit. This story does not share that depiction. These Sisters are flawed and human individuals. They suffer from personal foibles and depression, they get involved in contraband, addictive substances and romantic entanglements. They question their faith constantly. If they are caught they are still punished mercilessly, but many have learned ways to avoid this, or are overseen by superiors who are also going through their own struggles. If this doesn't sound like a depiction of the Sisters of Battle that you care for, then this story isn't for you.
> 
> Finally, the events surrounding the invasion of Volistad, as depicted in the game Final Liberation, are described has having taken place about a decade before this story, where as canon places it during M41 specifically.
> 
> If you don't have a problem with those changes then read on. I think you'll enjoy it.

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

By Jack Harvey

Prologue

Canoness Andante breathed probably the heaviest sigh she had ever known and switched off the communicator, jabbing it in frustration with the end of her force staff. Her power armour's servos whined in effort, reminding her that she hadn't even had time to disembark the bulky suit before the message had come in and so utterly unsettled her.

“Bring me Palatine Zennica,” she said grimly to the Adjutant that stood silently by the door. The servant nodded, and left the command room.

Andante sighed again as she glanced out the glass of the reinforced windows. From the communications room she could get a clear view of Vectron V. When viewed from orbit the now, mostly, scorched surface looked little more than the cooling embers of a fire.

That day was what the Imperium of Man considered a victory. Ninety five percent of the planet had been rendered useless, but the last five percent that could still be used for spectrum mining survived. Ultimately that was what was deemed worth fighting for. None of the remaining population survived. None of the five local system's Planetary Defence Force had survived.

Only twenty percent of the Imperial Guard forces originally sent into battle had survived, and only five percent of her own sisters, tasked with extracting three sacred relics that Vectron V had the privilege to house, had survived.

They had made it back with _one_ relic. She nodded to herself. She could say that at least the losses had not all been in vain.

Andante's own reflection in the glass seemed to be looking back in judgement. Her face was deeply cut with wrinkles, and her bionic eye glinted with the orange of the burning planet.

She heard a rustling sound as Palatine Zennica made her way through the worn out curtains that covered the entrance into the room.

Andante turned to look at her. She was still young, relatively speaking, and eager. She saw a little of herself in Zennica and had to wonder how the sister's soft brownish skin would look by the time she would reach Andante's age.

“You asked to see me Canoness?” Zennica said, standing straight to attention.

“I've just received a message from the Abbess Sanctorum,” Andante said, plainly.

Zennica's eyes widened. It was rare to hear from any of the High Lords of Terra, not least the Abbess herself, even in matters of grave urgency.

Andante wanted to laugh a little at Zennica's reaction. It was, at least, honest. It was rare for her to be in the presence of honesty.

“Yes,” Andante continued. “Direct from Terra. She imparts troubling news.”

Zennica swallowed nervously.

“The Order of the Weeping Martyr,” she said, taking a few steps across the command room, armour clanking as it did. “Our order, has been under review by the Ecclesiarchy for quite some time.”

“Under review?” Zennica repeated, dumbfounded. “But our order is the most pious and loyal in all the Imperium.”

Andante smiled. “Yes.” Suddenly she swung forth her force staff with great strength at the back of Zennica's ankle. Zennica stumbled, but thanks to the reinforcement of her power armour, she stayed on her feet. Had she not been wearing it, she would have surely fallen.

“Don't you think every Palatine in every order out there would have the same reaction?” Andante shouted at her. “It's not about what's in here,” she bashed the metal of her armoured chest with her fist. “It's about optics. It's about appearances.”

Zennica didn't say anything, deeming it more wise to allow the Canoness to finish.

Andante sighed again and turned to look out the window. “It's no secret that our order's numbers have been dwindling over the last two decades. Weeping Martyr convents near the Damocles gulf have seen fewer and fewer orphans thanks to... other economic opportunities, and our other means of recruitment have been adequate at best.”

Zennica nodded.

“And now, after Vectron V, our numbers are barely at functioning capacity.”

Andante glanced back at Zennica, expecting the Palatine to spout platitudes that each surviving sister was worth one hundred men, but to her relief she did not.

“The Abbess has told us that if we do not return the Weeping Martyr's numbers to at least twenty five thousand Battle Sisters then our order will be dissolved and folded into The Order of the Burning Rose.”

Zennica maintained her composure. “I see,” was all she said.

Andante jabbed a button on the command room's holo-unit and a projection of the local planetary systems flared into view.

“We could round up who we can from the Damocles convents but they'd never get here in time anyway, and the Abbess knows that. She's deliberately thrown us into the drak, but I'll be damned it the Weeping Martyr becomes nothing but a footnote in the annals of some no-nothing order like the Burning Rose.”

Zennica couldn't help but take a few steps back. It must have been shocking enough to hear a Canoness use an expletive, never mind badmouth another order and the Abbess herself.

Illuminated by the blue-green light of the holo-unit, her scowl made it clear that Andante didn't care, she had bigger things to worry about. “And me? They can drag me kicking and screaming before I'm put out to pasture teaching silver spoon juves in some cushy Scholar Progenium. I'm spending the rest of my days with my sisters. They'll never take that away from me.”

Zennica looked deeply concerned at the state of her Canoness’s emotions, but she dared not speak an objection, lest she face a worse punishment from the Canoness' force staff.

Andante breathed heavily, but seemed to be calming down. She turned back to the projection, and pointed with her staff. “What we're left with then, is a series of unaffiliated convents spread across this system. Not a lot is known about them, and Emperor knows the Ecclesiarchy's records are hardly reliable, but it's the best shot we've got. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Zennica said professionally. “I'll go personally to recruit from these convents.”

Andante nodded and smiled warmly. “Your obedience does this order proud Palatine. Remember, all that matters is numbers. We have all the time the Emperor gives us to whip those women into shape when they get here, but right now, I just need numbers on a data slate. Any abled bodied woman you can fit into a suit of power armour, you get on a ship and you get them in the order. Understand?”

“Yes, Canoness,” Zennica said, throwing up a salute. “The Emperor protects.”

With that, the Palatine left the chamber through it's busted up curtains. Andante turned to look at the hologram. There were six worlds on it. She knew not what they would contain, but she had to trust in the Emperor that it would be her salvation.

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter One

Sister Roslyn could feel the warmth of the morning sun on her face. She smiled, and rubbed the soft skin of her bare arms. Carnford would see a good harvest that year, she could feel it.

“Roslyn,” came a call from the other side of the field, “Roslyn, it is time.”

It was Prioress Grana. Her old and frail arms gently brushed aside the ears of corn that covered the field and her wrinkled face and grey hair appeared through the wall of crops.

“What by Terra are you doing out here?” the old sister asked her.

“It's the Blessing of Harvest's Eve,” Roslyn said, dancing between the stalks. “I thought it would do good to feel one with the fields.”

Grana smiled and shook her head. “All you need to feel close to is the texts dear. Let the farmers worry about the crops.”

“Yes, but it is our blessing that we give the crops today, is it not?” Roslyn asked. “Without us the Emperor would not see fit to give Carnford another boon for the year.”

Grana smiled again, trying to hide her amusement at the girl's naivety. She put a hand on Rosyln's arm. “You can feel as close as the crops as you want to sister, but the Emperor won't grant his boon if you recite the text wrong.”

Rosyln's smile began to fade. She knew the ritual meant nothing of course. It didn't matter how close she was to the crops, or how well she recited the texts, it really would be down to how hard the farmers worked, and the whims of the weather.

The Emperor, in his great majesty, had greater concerns governing the universe than how much extra crop they would get to keep that year. Yet, just for a moment, Roslyn wanted to believe that there really was some force in the universe that she could belong to, feel closer to, that would really make a difference.

“Oh,” said Grana, stopping herself. “I almost forgot, did you and the sisters finish decanting our most recent batch of grain cider?”

Roslyn's smile returned. They had worked hard this spring preparing the local's favourite brew. It was one of the main reasons so many came out to witness the blessing. Aside from honouring the Emperor of course.

“I'll take it that's a yes then,” Grana said, noticing Roslyn's changed mood. “The council will be here shortly,” she then added turning to leave. “Use the time you have to go over the ceremony one last time.”

****

Carnford was a small Agri-world far from anywhere of real significance. It's population was less than two billion, and most would spend their lives working the massive agricultural centres that spanned the surface of the planet.

Roslyn, however, was one of the few who would have the privilege of another line of work. While Imperial priesthood was readily practised on Carnford, Sector 19B, the sector she grew up in, had the planet's only Adepta Sororitas convent.

As grand as it sounded, the convent was little more than a sentimental feature. It was an old wooden building that had been in the sector for centuries. Beyond it’s hall were just a handful of rooms, and it's only real claim to fame was the rusted and poorly maintained power armour of some old forgotten Battle Sister. The story of how it had ended up on Carnford had long since faded from memory, and it served little purpose than to keep the sisters busy as part of their daily regimen.

Of the sisters, there were only five. Prioress Grana was the oldest, and had maintained the Convent single-handedly most of her life. It was only in her old age that she was persuaded to accept additional inductees to help her in her duties. Rosyln at twenty-two, was the second oldest, and technically Sister Superior, if that could be believed.

The other three were Catherine, Yara and Jane, who were all only eleven, and mostly cleaned the place to keep themselves out of trouble. They had only become sisters themselves thanks to a machine accident three years prior that had made them orphans.

The affairs of the Carnford Sector 19B convent were mostly unspectacular. They saw to the farmer's occasional spiritual concerns, performed weddings, funerals, and the Blessing of Harvest's Eve.

That would be the day that workers the planet over would begin to harvest their crops and haul them, in massive convoys, to the other side of the planet, where, near the end of the month, massive transport ships from the greater Imperium would arrive to haul the food away in turn to feed those more in need across the far ends of the empire.

If the yield was good, and far in excess of what the Imperium requested, then they would get to keep a surplus of the bounty, and eat well joyously over the next rotation of the sun. Hence, at Harvest's Eve, churches and temples the planet over would pray to the Emperor for such a blessing, and Sector 19B was no different.

****

It was mid-day when Roslyn had arrived back at the convent. From a distance it looked a solitary building. It's bell tower was the only thing that could be seen for miles around, surrounded by green fields of crops twice the size of men.

Ever since she was a child Roslyn dreamed of joining the convent, it's three story bell tower the highest thing she had ever seen, and while she had heard stories that the Sector 25P Cathedral was much, much larger, she didn't care. It was the convent she wanted to be at.

She walked through the gate behind the small graveyard that held a handful of sisters past, and ran a hand across the smoothly varnished wood of the convent's back door. She pulled it open, and looked up across the main hall.

Jane always complained that she found it creepy when it was silent, but Roslyn actually liked it better. Looking at the pews, and the carved wooden effigies of saints, she felt as though she belonged. Roslyn could sit down on one of those pews and nobody would have any expectations of her.

Yet, there were expectations of her. She wandered over to the main pulpit and saw that Grana had left the texts out ready for her to read.

The Blessing of Harvest's Eve wasn't a particularly long reading, but it would be embarrassing to get wrong. Roslyn read over it a couple of times in her head, before she practised reading it out loud. Once she began, the words echoed back to her across the empty hall, and she had to stop, almost laughing at the sound of her own voice.

Rosyln always found it a little hard to believe that she was a Sororitas. She's always wanted to be one, for sure, even when her parents said her stocky frame would be better suited to working the fields, and anyway, only orphans were asked to be sisters.

Yet, when Grana had asked, all those years ago, if she wanted to come and help out, she'd jumped at the chance.

Years of training and years of ceremony still left Roslyn feeling odd when she had to read something out loud. She never felt as though she had the authority to say those things. Grana had spent most of her life at the convent, it surely made sense that she should be the one beseeching the Emperor for blessing.

Roslyn knew, though, that Grana wouldn't be there forever, and somebody would have to look out for the next generation. Though she always found it a little funny that Catherine, Yara and Jane were supposed to see her as some authority, and yet some day that would be true.

Roslyn coughed, made a serious face, and read the passage again.

****

Sector 19B only held less than two hundred people, and with preparations for the harvest also taking place elsewhere, not all of them could make the Harvest's Eve blessing. Still, even then there were still around one hundred and fifty gathered by the front gate, with the sector council standing front and centre.

The blessing was traditionally done outside the convent, since it was for the benefit of the fields around them after all, and so a makeshift stage and pulpit had been put up in the shadow of the bell tower, the crowd gathered round in rows, each holding a glass of grain cider in their hands.

The sisters were all dressed in their ceremonial vestments, and Roslyn always found the younger girls adorable this time of year. Catherine, Yara and particularly Jane all tapped their feet and looked impatient. Roslyn smiled, she had been just the same at their age.

Grana greeted the people gathered, and gave a brief introduction to those who may not have known Roslyn, though that was unlikely, before finally letting her begin with the blessing.

“O Immortal Emperor,” she began. “Have mercy upon us, miserable unworthies that we are.”

Roslyn paused, took a breath, and reminded herself not to laugh. With no laugh, nor subsequent embarrassment and chastisement coming, she continued.

“O Master of the Galaxy: protect your harvest from rot. O keeper of the light: Guide our seeds from darkened ground with your radiance.”

Roslyn looked out at the crowd. They stood stony faced in reverence. Ceremonial bouquets of flowers were clasped in some of their hands. Cups of grain cider in others. The faces of the council looked particularly enthralled.

She tried not to let it go to her head.

“We are your farmers and we are servants to thee, we stand free from sloth and neglect, free from pride, arrogance and aloofness, but captive to dedication, commitment and toil, to the ground, the seeding and the harvest.”

Many in the crowd were nodding now, and even Jane had stopped fidgeting beneath her robes.

“By thy agony and bloody sweat; by thy golden throne and thy death, by thy destruction and re-emergence as the god of men, keep and strengthen our harvest, we who grow for thee.”

Suddenly all doubt had left Roslyn's mind. It was a little thing, maybe, but just hearing the words, reciting them, for another year, made her feel like she was chosen to be there.

Roslyn held up the book of texts for the crowd to see. “The Emperor Protects,” she finished.

“The Emperor Protects,” the crowd repeated.

With that the joyful faces returned and everyone began to relax. Families embraced and colleagues shook hands.

“An excellent recital,” Grana said to Roslyn, her face soft and motherly. “Much better than last year.”

Roslyn glanced over and noticed that the council were starting to huddle closer to the stage.

“It seems your recital today has caught the attention of a few important people,” Grana said. “Thought it may actually have more to do with that most recent batch of grain cider.”

Roslyn's face dropped, she didn't relish the idea of having to have non-conversations and small talk with the town’s bean counters.

Noticing Roslyn's discomfort, Grana nodded. “I'm sure they would like to wile away a few hours discussing spiritual matters,” she said. “However, it looks as though the other sisters are getting restless.”

She glanced over to the crowd, where Roslyn could see the three girls making a nuisance of themselves running around and between the legs of various guests.

“Somebody needs to keep them out of mischief,” Grana said. “I'll see to the council,” she said, smiling. “You have more important duties to attend to.”

Roslyn smiled back. “Thank you.”

“Now go on,” Grana said, pointing to the girls. “Before one of them muddies their vestments.”

Roslyn stepped down from the stage and made her way over to the other sisters.

“Come on girls,” she said. “Let's not bother the adults today. They're here to relax and take heart. They don't need to worry about one of you ploughing into their legs.”

“But it's Harvest's Eve,” Jane said. “We're supposed to be having fun.”

Roslyn squatted down, to look at them on their level. “I can think of something way more fun than wandering around here.”

****

Yara cheered with glee as she clasped her hands around Roslyn's metal encased arm. She had picked up speed now, and could feel the wind in her hair.

“One,” Roslyn counted, as she ran between the gravestones. “Two.”

“Three!” Yara counted, and with that, Roslyn vaulted into the air, gliding high over the graveyard fence, before landing with a thump in the soft dirt behind it.

Even under all the rust it still amazed her what the power armour could do.

“Me next!” called Catherine. “Me next!”

Rosyln put down Yara and stomped over to Catherine. She picked the small girl up and, without warning, tossed her high into the air. Catherine was launched higher than she possibly could hope to jump before falling to be caught safely in Roslyn's gauntlets.

“Hahah,” the girl chuckled with glee.

“Ros?” called Jane from behind her.

With a frustrated whine the power armour turned, and Roslyn could see that Jane was holding up an air-powered rifle. The type farmers would use to scare off vermin.

“Jane,” Roslyn said, shaking her head. “You know that the Prioress told you to get rid of that thing.”

“Grana doesn't know,” she said, a cheeky smile partially obscured behind messy blonde hair. “Promise not to tell?”

Roslyn noticed that Yara was now setting up a bunch of old tin cans on top of the gravestones, and didn't see the harm in playing along.

“Give it here,” she said, picking up the rifle.

Roslyn aimed carefully. Normally her arms would falter and shake, and she wouldn't even dream of hitting even half the cans that were set up. In the armour, however, the servos kept her stiller than a mountain in spring. Something about the tranquillity granted by wearing such a thing could turn her into a crack shot.

She fired, and the first metal pellet found it's mark, knocking a can from a grave.

Quickly she pulled back the lever and reloaded. She shot the second one, pulled the leaver again, then shot the third.

Shot, pull, shot, pull, shot, pull. In one smooth motion she had eliminated all the targets, and the girls clapped with glee.

“Wow,” came a voice she didn't recognise. “I think you missed one.”

In surprise Roslyn turned, to see a young man in a loose shirt and waistcoat leaning by the fence. A grey cap was propped precariously atop his wavy hear. His smile reminded Roslyn of the sun in the sky.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “But you're interrupting important convent business.”

“Oh!” he said, half-jokingly. “Excuse me. I'll just be on my way.”

Roslyn smiled. “It's okay, we were just finishing up anyway.”

“Awww,” the girls all sighed in unison.

“Come on now girls,” she said. “It is getting late. See to the rest of the day's duties and I'll catch you in a few minutes.”

For a moment it seemed as though they were going to argue, but it was clear that Roslyn wasn't going to change her mind, so instead they lowered their heads, and made their way back to the hall.

Roslyn pressed hard against the internal switch in her left gauntlet, and the release catch on the back of armour popped open. There was a hiss as air escaped, and carefully Roslyn lifted the chest plate over her head and she pulled herself out.

“So,” she said, now feeling closer to human again. “What is it I can help you with Sir?”

“You don't remember me do you?” he said, smile still on his face.

Roslyn studied the man's face. There was something familiar about it. Then she realised who he was.

“Friedrich?” she said in surprise. “I haven't seen you since we were children. What are you doing here?”

He rubbed the back of his head, a little embarrassed at the reaction he had caused.

“I'm, uh, back in the Sector now. Been away for a few years studying at the Administratum in Sector 43E. Always wanted to have a hand in running things, and now they seem to think so too.”

“You're going to be on the sector council?” Roslyn asked, her smile beaming.

“Well, not just yet,” Friedrich replied. “I've got to shadow them for a couple of years, see how they do things.”

“Well good for you,” she said honestly.

“So,” he said. “It's _Sister_ Roslyn now is it?”

She bit her lip and smiled.

“When did that happen?” he asked. “I never took you for the pious type.”

“It's not about piety,” she said, taking no offence at his insinuation. “It's just what I always wanted to do. Seeing to folk's spiritual needs...” she shrugged. “It's just something I enjoy.”

“It's not the only thing you seem to enjoy,” Friedrich said, raising his eyebrows and glancing at the spent cans nestled in the graveyard's grass.

“Oh that,” Roslyn said, waving her hand towards the power armour. “That's just some sillyness.”

“Well,” continued Friedrich. “Either way, after hearing the recital earlier I think you chose your vocation well. You're very good at it.”

Roslyn blushed and avoided his gaze. She smiled. “You're too kind.”

He leaned forward over the fence and held out his hand. She accepted it, and looked back at his smiling face.

“So I guess if things go well we could be seeing a lot more of each other,” he said. “But I suppose you're married to the Emperor now right?”

Roslyn was taken aback for a moment. It was true that she had taken certain vows when she had joined the convent, but she had never really thought about what a lot of them would mean for her, and how seriously she would have to take them.

She looked down at Friedrich. He had gotten handsome in his years. His soft face suited his characterful smile, and the slight stubble he had grown only added character to it. Through the opening in his shirt Roslyn could see the top of Friedrich's chest, and her imagination could fill in the rest.

She was blushing again, and in the afternoon sun, she was feeling as though she may break out in a sweat.

It made it all the more noticeable when a shadow fell over the two of them.

Curiously, Roslyn turned. “What is that?” she asked. As the shadow passed she raised up her hand to keep the sun out of her eyes.

The shadow had gone, but in it's place came a screaming sound from the distance. Roslyn had only heard it's like a few times, but she recognised it as some kind of aircraft.

“That's funny,” Friedrich said. “There aren't any scheduled transports for the next couple of days.”

As Roslyn kept her eyes on the sky the craft came into view. It was small, but wide, with elongated wings that fanned out, almost like a birds. It was predominantly dark blue, but with noticeable yellow highlights.

“Sister Roslyn,” called Grana, who came running from behind her.

“What is it Grana?” Roslyn said, noticing that she also had the other sisters in tow.

“It is time,” Grana said, cryptically. “Time it is.” She turned to Friedrich. “You need to go young man. This is not for the concerns of man”

“I'm sorry?” Friedrich responded.

“You need to go, now!” Grana shouted at him, and the young man didn't argue further, making haste to leave the convent grounds.

The craft was much clearer now. It did indeed have the look of a bird about it, but it's large girder-like wings reminded Roslyn much more of the imperial eagle that hung above the main hall's alter.

Eventually the shuttle touched down just behind the grave yard, blowing dust and loose straw up into the air. So much so that the sisters had to cover their eyes as it's engines powered down. Unsettled, so too, was the solitary can that Roslyn had missed toppled from it's perch.

Once the shuttle engines had finally fell silent, a ramp lowered from it's undercarriage to the ground with a great whine.

Then, with the sound of heavy steps on metal, down walked a towering woman wearing heavy armour painted in a similar dark blue and yellow of the shuttle.

While it looked almost completely different without any grime or rust, Roslyn recognised it immediately to be the same kind of power armour she was wearing not a few moments ago.

The woman was dark skinned, and had short, neatly combed hair.

“Greetings,” she said. “I am Palatine Zennica of the Order of the Weeping Martyr, and I am here to claim tithe.”


	2. The Trials of Sister Roslyn Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at https://twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at https://twitter.com/el_jackinton or https://eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Two

By Jack Harvey

Roslyn felt a pain develop in the pit of her stomach. She'd always known that this day might come, of course. It had been part of her vows that, should the the Emperor ask of her service, it was only right that she should unquestionably do her duty.

But she had never really taken the idea seriously. Carnford hadn't seen conflict in hundreds of years, and the yearly transport ships were it's only real contact with the greater Imperium. The convent was barely big enough to service the habitants of one sector. It was not a place for those that were battle ready.

As what was unfolding in front of her began to dawn on Roslyn tears began to form in her eyes.

“Prioress?” Zennica said, stomping over to Grana.

“That I am,” Grana said, confrontationally.

“I need you to gather every able bodied sister under your convent and have them make ready for departure.”

“This is it,” Grana said simply.

Zenicca nodded unthinkingly, having not really listened to what Grana had just said. Once she realised the others were not moving, she spoke “Sorry?”

“This is it,” Grana repeated. “This is all of us.”

Zennica didn't seem to fully understand the implication at first. Instead she glanced at the girls, then at Grana, then at a trembling and tearful Roslyn. Zennica pulled out a data slate and read from it.

“This is the Convent of St Junianna and St Josea?” Zennica asked.

“I don't know,” Grana said. “Nobody really remembers the name, It's just known as the convent in these parts, but you are welcome to read through out texts. It might mention some kind of name there.”

Zennica looked at her, confused. “Is this a joke?” She asked. “Is there another convent on Carnford?”

Grana shook her head. “If there was we hadn't been told about it.”

Suddenly Zennica began to tremble with rage, and she gritted her teeth and her face flared up. Just as Roslyn was expecting her to erupt in frustration, Zennica just breathed out calmly, closing her eyes.

“Very well,” she said, letting the fire in her die down. “You five will have to do.”

“Oh ho, I don't think so,” said Grana, laughing. “Do you think someone my age is going to be able to handle a bolt gun? Unless you want to pay for some significant juvenat treatments.”

Zennica looked her up and down, and smiled slightly. “Point taken.”

“And these three,” she held up a wizened hand to the young girls. “They're barely in double digits. I don't know what you'd be expecting from them. Is your ship equipped for the accommodation of three mischievous children?”

The three girls where huddled round Grana's legs, Zennica eyed them suspiciously.

“Or do you have power armour a couple of sizes down?” Grana asked with venom.

Zennica ignored the barb and stomped over to get a look at Roslyn.

She was huddled up and nervous like the others. Her eyes had dried but she was still shaking. Despite the fact that, technically speaking, she and Zennica were peers, the woman towered over her, and in the heavily decorated armour, could have almost been some kind of demon.

“And what about this one?” Zennica asked. “What kind of excuse do you have to deny me her?”

Grana didn't say anything at first. Instead she simply turned and looked Roslyn in the eyes. There was look of pity, and sympathy to it. Then Grana swallowed. “None,” she said.

Roslyn's heart dropped, and she felt the tears swelling in her eyes again.

“I was hoping Sister Roslyn would be my replacement as Prioress some day. Hoped that she would look after the convent well into her own old age, but if the Emperor has other plans then I cannot deny him.”

Zennica nodded, simply.

“She's an excellent sister,” Grana continued. “I couldn't have asked for a finer successor. She will do your order proud.”

“Prioress,” Roslyn said through tears, trying to protest.

“Hush girl,” Grana said, walking over and putting her arms around her. “Remember your vows. We promised to give our lives to the Emperor on the day we joined up. That meant through both the good times and the bad. He's calling you now, you must answer.”

“But I'm not a warrior,” Rosyln said. “I've never been in a fight in my entire life.”

Grana turned to Zennica. “She'll receive training?” Grana asked.

“From the best,” she replied.

“There you go,” Grana said to Roslyn. “It'll be nothing for you. Just another part of your progress as a sister.”

“But what about my friends?” Roslyn said. “My family. I'll never see them again.”

Grana turned back to Zennica. “You must allow the girl to say her final goodbyes. Allow her that at least.”

Zennica looked at something on the data slate. She was growing impatient. “Very well, she has two hours to get her affairs in order.”

“Two hours?” Roslyn cried in disbelief.

“Two hours,” Zennica repeated. “You are a Battle Sister of the Order of the Weeping Martyr now. Be grateful for the mercy I show you today girl because you will find it no further.”

Roslyn fell into Grana's arms and tears streamed down her eyes.

Zennica made her way back to the shuttle. “Two hours.”

****

As the shuttle began to climb through the air Roslyn was still in a state of shock. She always thought that if she ever got to see space travel it would be a joyful experience, but as she sat strapped tightly into her seat, she could only think about what she had lost.

Her parents were distraught. They always thought her choice to join the convent was a little curious, but they knew they would be able to see her at any time. Now, the fact that she would be going off world, possibly to face the terrors of the outside universe, left them looking at her vows as little more than a curse.

The worst part was watching them realise that they didn't even get to see Roslyn recite her final Harvest's Eve.

Living a sparse life in the convent meant that Roslyn didn't have many possessions to attend to, but saying goodbye to Catherine, Yara and Jane had been harder than she expected. The girls didn't seem to know what to do with their lives now that Roslyn was leaving them.

Grana, though, simply talked Roslyn through it. She knew trails were awaiting her, and life was going to get much harder, but this was what Grana had prepared her for. She believed in Roslyn, and told Roslyn she should believe in herself.

The whole experience would have been much harder had it not been for Grana.

The shuttle craft shook as it left the planet's atmosphere and broke orbit. She looked over at Zennica, who was sitting silently in her seat.

“Why?” Grana asked.

Zennica didn't answer.

“Why do I have to go?” she continued.

“Why do I have to go, Palatine,” Zennica shouted back. “I am your commander now, you will address me as such.”

Grana sighed. “Palatine, I'm just one woman. I'm not even trained. What difference would it make if you were to just take me back and leave me where I was?”

“Is the fact that the Emperor wills it not a good enough reason?”

Roslyn didn't answer, instead pulling a stern face.

“Very well,” Zennica said. “The truth is that there are greater powers beyond even my control that push and pull us in one direction or the other. These powers have tasked me with increasing our order's numbers. What difference you make in practicality is irrelevant, but leaving this planet with one is better than none.”

Roslyn sighed. She hadn't expected to talk her way out of it, but the considered it worth a try.

“Got that out of your system now?” Zennica asked. “Good, because the moment you set foot off this craft I'll be expecting you to behave like a Battle Sister. You'll be allocated a bunk, a locker and a schedule of the weeks affairs. Training will begin immediately and you will be treated no different from any of the other sisters under my command.”

Suddenly, out of the circular, domed viewing port, the stars were blotted out by a glowing metal beast. Looking up, Roslyn could do little more than take in the majesty of the massive space craft. It was long, and ornate, and every inch of it's hull was decorated in the sigils of the Adepta Sororitas.

What little part of Roslyn that still thought the convent looked grand was washed away in an instant.

“Welcome to the order Sister Roslyn.”

****

The rest of the day's events flew by in a whirlwind. Roslyn was asked to discard her old vestments from the convent and was instead given clean, vibrant new ones. These were much classier and elaborate than anything she had been allowed to wear on Carnford, and were coloured in the dark blue and yellow that seemed synonymous with the order.

The corridors of the ship were gunmetal grey, but adorned with seals and effigies to the Emperor. Roslyn couldn't walk five feet without passing a seemingly random collection of candles melting away onto the floor.

The sisters of the ship all walked stony faced in units of five or more, marching more like soldiers, which Roslyn supposed is what they were, really. As she passed from room to room she saw that if they weren't praying they were training. Despite their regimental lifestyle, the sisters all looked unique.

Some wore their hair short, some wore it long, some didn't have any at all. Their skin tones ranged from palest Gray to darkest brown, suggesting they came from all corners of the Imperium, and while some of them had the prettiest faces Roslyn had ever seen, many looked as though they had been treated roughly, or worse, more than a few times.

Roslyn shivered as she speculated as to what was to come.

She was allocated a bottom bunk in a long rectangular box of a room. It had no windows and sparse lighting. A far cry from the cosy wooden room she had gotten used to back in the convent.

Finally, she had been escorted to a medical room, where an assessment was to be done on her physique. She was met by a stocky Sister Hospitaller who introduced herself as Brunhild.

“So,” Brunhild said as she took a blood sample. “You're the new meat yah?” She spoke in a peculiar accent.

“Is that what they're calling me?” Roslyn asked grimly, still not yet acclimatised to the situation.

“The Palatine was expecting to be introducing us to a handful of new sisters. One is... a little unorthodox,” Brunhild said.

“I'll try not to disappoint you,” Roslyn replied sarcastically.

“That's the spirit,” Brunhild responded, seemingly taking Roslyn's comment at face value. “Well, your blood checks out. Let's take your height and weigh you.”

Roslyn was led over to a curious contraption that appeared to be built into the wall. She stepped up onto a platform and spindly metal arms began to poke and prod her softly.

“Don't worry, it won't bite,” Brunhild said.

“So,” Roslyn said, making small talk to take her mind off the strange device. “What's it like here? Being a Battle Sister I mean?”

“Oh, I'm not a Battle Sister,” said Brunhild, looking at some read outs on a screen. “Quite the opposite in fact. I have to keep things alive, you'll be doing the opposite.”

Roslyn's face dropped.

“Trust me,” Brunhild said, with a smile. “Yours is the easier job by far.”

“Well,” said Roslyn. “What I mean is what's it like? Being here? This life?”

Brunhild shrugged. “It is what it is. I do my duty and keep the women in this order fit and healthy, until the Emperor has other plans.”

“Other plans?” asked Roslyn.

“Until he puts me in the ground,” Brunhild said. “Now, put this thermometer in your mouth please.”


	3. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Three

By Jack Harvey

Despite Roslyn's body clock still feeling as thought it was on Carnford, she was told that for the ship's rotation it was almost the end of the day, and therefore time for final cleaning and the nightly prayer before bed.

Roslyn was led to the wash room and pointed towards the showers.

Despite the water being warm, Roslyn shivered. She was surrounded by other women, disrobed and carrying on without any regard for their own modesty. Roslyn had never shared a shower in her entire adult life, and felt incredibly embarrassed, yet none of the sisters paid any attention to her.

Roslyn decided that the best thing to do was to wash as quickly as possible and be on her way.

However, as she reached forward for the soap, she couldn't help but give the room one more glance. She studied the bodies of the women around her. From the look of the muscles in their arms and legs they were all in better shape than any man she had known on Carnford. She would hate to get in a fight with any.

Many had viscous looking scars, some running the length of an entire limb, while others had nasty scorch marks across their bodies, leaving flesh looking warped and distorted. Others still had missing fingers, ears and toes, one even had a missing arm, and Roslyn had to assume that she must have had some kind of bionic prosthetic to perform her duties.

All of this painted a grim picture of what was to come for Roslyn. Even if she could survive the training and live life in cramped up quarters, she would still have to face the very real possibility that grievous injury was waiting for her in the future, if not violent death.

“What the frag are you looking at new meat?” a voice shouted at her.

Roslyn had been so swept up in speculating on her future that she hadn't realised where she was staring. The shower next to her had two sisters huddled under it's head. They were pressed up closely together, and their hands were on each other. One was pale, and had most of her hair shaved, with just a single strip running from the centre down to her scalp. She was covered in tattoos of skulls, snakes and some other creatures that Roslyn didn't recognise.

The other sister was dark skinned, and had a shaved head. At first glance Roslyn also thought she had tattoos, but upon closer inspection they appeared to be small scars, all formed together into a spiralling pattern. Roslyn could only conclude these scars had been deliberately inflicted.

“Hey,” shouted the sister with the tattoos. “You got a problem?”

“No,” Roslyn mumbled, quickly rubbing the soap across her body and turning off the water before bolting quickly to the changing room.

Roslyn retrieved her vestments from the locker and began dressing quickly. She wasn't sure what kind of social etiquette she may have broken but she wanted to get out of there before she broke any more.

The tattooed sister had followed her to the locker room, modesty be damned. “Hey,” she shouted. “Don't you run away when I ask you a question.”

Roslyn leaned back against the locker. “I'm sorry. I wasn't looking.”

“That's funny,” the sister said. “Because it looked like you were looking.”

“I'm just, uh, not used to all of, uh, this.” Roslyn muttered.

“Uh! Uh! Uh!” the sister repeated mockingly. “You're going to need to speak clearer if you're going to be a Battle Sister new meat.”

“Golden Throne Synthecia give the girl a break! It's her first day,” said a sister who was sitting on a bench getting dressed. She was short, but stern looking, had simple hair combed away from her eyes, and the flur-de-lis symbol of the Soroitas tattooed under her right eye.

“So? If she can't even stand up to me how the hell is she going to operate on the battlefield?” Sister Synthecia asked.

“Don't I remember you soiling your armour the first day you wore it?” the sister on the bench said.

A few of the sisters in the room giggled, and Synthecia blushed.

Roslyn almost wanted to smile.

Synthecia stomped over to her. “Just stay the frag out of my way,” she said, before making her way back to the showers.

Roslyn breathed a sigh of relief, and sat down next to the other sister.

“Don't mind Sister Synthecia,” she said. “She just has a temper and hates it if people get between her and Senna.”

“They're not...” Roslyn paused for a moment, choosing her next words carefully. “They're not what I expect when I think of a Sororitas.”

“You'll find all sorts here,” the sister said. “Hard though it may be to believe, Synthecia is actually nobility, or at least she was. Her father is the governor of Volistad. He got tired of her rebellious ways embarrassing him, so he sent her off to a convent to calm her down. As you can see, it hasn't took yet.”

“And the other sister, Senna was it?” Roslyn continued. “Those scars, are they self inflicted?”

“Her parents would have administered them more likely,” the sister replied. “She's from Ibaria. The people there have their own rituals, but they're loyal to the Emperor to a fault.”

Roslyn glanced back over to the showers. “Are... the two of them... you know?”

The sister simply raised her eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“I thought we were supposed to be married to the Emperor.”

The sister laughed. “Listen... Roslyn isn't it?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised the sister knew her name.

“I'm going to let you in on a little secret Sister Roslyn,” the sister continued. “When we're out there, performing our duties, we're going to be going to the worst places imaginable. We'll be on worlds where the air is so toxic you can't even see. Worlds where the plants will be more dangerous than our enemies. And those enemies? We're going to be fighting xenos that want to rend the flesh from our bones, heretics that want to sacrifice us to their dark gods, and even those on our own side will be eyeing us with suspicion, ready to turn on us if we show the slightest sign of weakness.”

Roslyn swallowed, as the reality of what she could be facing was described in all it's horrible detail.

“You're going to see friends die. You're going to experience pain in ways you didn't think were possible. Then, at the end of the day, you'll say a prayer and go to bed ready to do it all again when you wake.”

Roslyn nodded.

“With that in mind, I'm not going to argue against any sister who goes looking for something, anything, that'll keep them out of the pit of despair. You understand me?”

Roslyn nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” the sister said, standing. “By the way, the name's Sister Superior Augusta. I'm your new squad leader.”

****

After the nightly prayer Roslyn had returned to her bunk. To her surprise somebody had left a burning set of candles atop her lock-box. They had been there for a while and melted over the majority of the lid.

Glancing at the streams of wax, Roslyn didn't know whether to interpret this as some joke being played on the new recruit or some actual bizarre ritual that she didn't understand yet.

Instead, she simply lay down on her bottom bunk and tried to go to sleep. However, though emotionally exhausted as she was, Roslyn could not keep her eyes shut. Her mind was still whirring with worry, and struggling to accept what had happened. Part of Roslyn thought if she tried hard enough she could will herself back to the start of the day, and warn the others, ask Grana to hide her, or resign from the convent and forsake her vows.

Or maybe she would wake up the following morning and find the whole thing had simply been a terrible dream.

Still, sleep didn't come. Roslyn was haunted with thoughts of all the horrible things that had been explained to her over the day. She thought of the scars and tortured limbs of her fellow sisters, and imagined her own body being torn limb from limb by some creature from the very pit of the warp.

That would be if she lasted that long. Every time she saw shadows moving in the dark corners of the room, she dreaded that it was Synthecia, or some other Sister she had looked at in the wrong way, waiting to give her a beating, or worse.

Roslyn started to cry, only to be met with a shout of “Keep it the frag down new meat!” from whoever was in the bunk above. She could not even find solace in tears, and tried her best to hold in any and all emotions for the rest of the night.

She tried to think of what Grana had said to her. Grana believed in her, and she would have to believe in herself.

On that, Roslyn decided to focus simply on getting to morning, she could worry about what struggle waited for her then. Now, she just had to wait out the dark.

****

Sluggish, and barely believing she was alive, Roslyn woke to the sound of bells. The sisters surrounding her were shooting up out of their bunks, dressing with utmost urgency.

Roslyn's eyes were almost fused together with dried tears, and she had to rub them profusely to get them to open. By the time she was up most of the sisters had dressed, and were making their way to the wash-room.

Disorientated, it took Roslyn a few moments to remember where everything was. She shoved the dried wax from her lockbox, the whole lump cracking off in a single piece, and she retrieved her vestments.

By the time she had got dressed the dorm room was empty, and Roslyn looked around, for some sign of where she was supposed to be going. Then she remembered that she had been given a schedule for the day's affairs. She rustled back through her possessions, and found the beige coloured scroll.

The first point on the list was training and exercise in the cargo bay. Quickly she rolled up the scroll and put it into one of her pouches, then made her way to the wash-room. Like the dorm, it too was empty. Whatever sisters had been using it had already gone on their way.

Not wanting to make a nuisance of herself, she washed her face and hands and quickly made her way back out of the room. She was now in the main corridor that she was led down when she had arrived.

There was still nobody in sight, and the signs and sigils on the walls didn't give much of a clue which way she was supposed to go. Instead she simply backtracked the route she came in on the previous day. Logically, Roslyn figured, the cargo bay can't have been far from the main hanger, since surely cargo would have to go the same way in and out.

However, upon arrival Roslyn found the hanger entirely locked down. If she wanted to get in she needed an access code. She pulled out the scroll, ever aware that she would be late for the morning exercise.

Nothing on the scroll was of any help, and she began to panic, breathing heavily, and tears forming again.

“Can I help you?” came a heavily distorted voice behind her.

Roslyn jumped, and turned.

She was surprised to see that it was not a sister standing next to her. The figure was tall, and clad in red and white robes. Under the robes, pipes and wires ran between limbs and power units. The face was covered by a bulky breathing apparatus. Very little of the figure's flesh could be seen.

“Are you okay sister?” the figure asked.

It took her a moment, but Roslyn realised that this was a tech-priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus. She had read about the mysterious cult of Mars in the convent's texts, and knew well there were even a few on Carnford to help with the massive, automated farm vehicles, but she had never met one in the flesh before.

Or in the metal so to speak.

“Uh, hello?” Roslyn said, unsure how to address the tech-priest. “I'm Sister Roslyn. I'm new here.”

“Ah yes,” the tech-priest's voice vibrated, which Roslyn thought sounded like they were speaking through a tin can. “I had been informed we would be seeing new faces on board The Victorium.”

It suddenly dawned on Roslyn that she hadn't even known the name of the ship she was on.

“Hello, Sister Roslyn. I'm Enginseer Callisa,” the tech-priest said, introducing themself in the most unenthusiastic way imaginable. “Forgive me, but you seemed troubled.”

Roslyn was finding it difficult to read the Enginseer's body language, of what little there was, and was unsure how concerned they actually were. Still, she realised that her situation couldn't get any worse by asking for help.

“Nice to meet you,” Roslyn said politely. “I'm, uh, looking for the cargo bay?”

Enginseer Callisa nodded. “An easy mistake to make if you don't know the halls. Go back the way you came until you see a large bulkhead door. That leads to an elevator that can take you to every deck of the ship. Not that you will need to. The cargo bay is simply on deck three, directly above the hanger you were trying to get into just now.”

“Thank you,” Roslyn said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I've got to get going, but I appreciate the help.”

As Roslyn began retracing her steps she heard Callisa say, “You are welcome Sister,” and still had a hard time telling how sincere they were.

****

Finally making her way to the large cargo bay, Roslyn could see that there were a lot of sisters all lined up in their squads. It seemed like most, if not all, the sisters were training in there.

For a moment Roslyn thought there was no way she would know which group to join, before spotting Sister Superior Augusta. She quickly trotted over to the line.

Slipping in silently, she noticed that Augusta was halfway through a speech. Despite her serious tone, she smiled to see her. So far she had been the only friendly face on the ship.

Suddenly Augusta stopped. “Sister Roslyn? Emperor's balls! Where have you been?” she shouted aggressively.

“I, uh...” Roslyn muttered, struggling to explain herself, and surprised that Augusta had shouted at her so readily.

“And why the frak are you in your vestments?” Augusta continued shouting. “This is exercise, not prayer.”

Roslyn stared down the line she was in, and realised that the rest of the sisters were dressed in vests and shorts.

“Or were you planning on running a marathon in your vestments?” Augusta shouted, a lock of her hair bouncing as she did.

The rest of the sisters began laughing.

“Shut up the rest of you, this isn't funny,” Augusta shouted back at them and they stopped immediately. She walked over to Roslyn, and the woman who seemed so friendly and welcoming the previous day now sneered at her. “Sister Roslyn, get back to your dorm and get appropriately dressed for training.”

“Y... yes Sister Superior,” Roslyn said, fighting though tears again.

“The rest of you,” Augusta said, taking a step back to address the rest of the group. “I want one hundred laps of the cargo bay, follow that with two hundred press ups, and then another hundred.” Then she turned back to Roslyn. “And Sister Roslyn, for wasting my time you're going to be doing twice as much.

Roslyn felt as though her eyes were going to pop out of her head. She looked up and down the massive cargo bay. There was no way she could see herself running four hundred laps without rest.

“This way you won't forget to dress appropriately tomorrow,” Augusta said.

Blushing so much she felt as though she would burn up, Roslyn began marching her way back to the door, and barely heard Augusta finish addressing the rest of them.

“Alright Emperor's chosen,” she shouted jovially. “Get to it!”

“The Emperor protects!” the rest of them shouted, and began to run.

****

After thirty laps of the cargo bay Roslyn thought she was going to die. After fifty she barely registered where she was. By the time she had got to the first hundred she had gotten used to the other sisters running past her again and again and again as if it were the only thing she would see for the rest of her life.

By the end of it Roslyn had slowed to a crawl, barely moving faster than walking pace. Once she had reached two hundred she collapsed on the floor, unable to face the possibility of doing anything further. It was only Sister Augusta's repeated shouts and commands that forced her to push herself up.

Roslyn had never done a push up in her entire life, and so didn't even know if she was doing them properly. Through shouts, and her own exhaustion, she forced herself up, and down, and up again. She didn't keep count, just decided she would keep going until she was told to stop or death came and took her.

Eventually, with sweat bleeding through her vest and saliva running from her mouth to the floor because she couldn't breath through her nose anymore, Roslyn was told to stop.

“That's enough for today,” Augusta said, the only other woman left in the cargo bay now that the other sisters were long gone. “We'll pick the rest of this up tomorrow.”

Augusta then turned and walked away.

Roslyn just lay there for what was probably half an hour, though it felt much longer. Every part of her ached. She felt as though her limbs would never move again. Eyes half open, the cargo bay felt as though it was spinning around her.

Once again, she found herself wishing she had done something, anything, to avoid going with Zennica. She wanted to send a message back in time, to warn her past self.

It was no use, of course, and so, when some semblance of strength had actually returned, she pushed herself to her feet, and stumbled her way out of the cargo bay.

Roslyn didn't know what it was, but a rush of emotion suddenly overcame her. Maybe it was the fact that the pain was starting to recede, and she had something else to focus on. Maybe it was just by chance. Either way, tears began to flood out of her eyes, and she began to bawl.

Hearing the sound of movement from the end of the corridor, she bashfully pushed her way through the nearest door.

Through teary eyes she scanned the dark of her surroundings. Leaning onto a shelf covered in bottles and containers it appeared to be some form of maintenance closet.

Roslyn leaned into her arm and let the tears gush out, and she sobbed heartily. There was nothing she could do to make herself feel better. Every thought she had was filled with speculation of what other horrors and humiliations were waiting for her.

She jumped when she heard something moving in the corner.

“Hey, uhhh, you, you alright thererrr?” a slurring voice said.

Roslyn turned, to see a figure was huddled in the corner. The girl was dressed in vestments that appeared to be two sizes two big, and she blended in almost seamlessly to the darkness. She had pale skin, short unkept hair, and sunken eyes with deep black bags beneath them.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Roslyn said genuinely. “I didn't know this closet was already taken.”

“Thatsss alright,” the girl said, smiling. “Room in here for more than one.”

Roslyn wiped her eyes and sniffed.

“What's wrong, Sssister?” the girl asked.

“Nothing,” Roslyn said defensively.

“Don't look like nothing.”

“I'm sorry,” Roslyn replied. “It's just I'm new here and I don't know what's going on and I'm no good.” Suddenly she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. “I'm no good for anything,” she said, and began to cry again.

“Hey. I'm sure thatsss not true,” the girl said. “We all have bad days.”

Roslyn wiped her eyes. “I feel like I'm having a bad life.”

The girl stood and shuffled over to Roslyn, and from what Roslyn could see she seemed to walk strangely.

“Look, I knowww things look bad now,” she said. “But trust me. Every sisssster on this ship has been where you've been.”

Roslyn sniffed.

“This closet has seen it's fair share of tears. You know?” the girl said, before putting a hand on her chest. “My namesss Sister Chalice by the way.”

Roslyn could now see there was something extremely unhealthy with the girl. Her eyes were bloodshot and pupils dilated, and she swayed from side to side, as though light headed. Roslyn wasn't exactly experienced with narcotics, but she could tell when somebody had been on something.

“My name is Sister Roslyn,” she said to Chalice. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“M' sure it is,” Chalice said, smiling. “Sorry you're not ssssseeing me at my best.”

Roslyn smiled, it was heartening to find she wasn't the only one struggling to hold it together. “I'm sorry you're not seeing me at my best either.”

“There'sss time,” Chalice said, pointing a bony finger at her. “Time mayyy seem tough now, but you'll get through it. I can see that.”

Roslyn's smile spread wider. As strange and unsettling as Sister Chalice seemed, at least there was one person on this ship that wasn't rooting for her to fail.

She wiped her eyes clean, and breathed a deep breath. “Okay, back at it,” she said.

Chalice gave her a thumbs up. “You ever want to talk just come sssee me,” she said. “My closet is always open.”

Roslyn laughed. She should have been deeply troubled by whatever condition Chalice was in, but her world had been turned so upside down that she would take support from wherever she found it. She hugged the emaciated sister, who seemed surprised at the reaction. She then smiled, nodded, and left.


	4. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Four

By Jack Harvey

Thanks to the morning's ordeal Roslyn had missed morning prayer, but Augusta informed her that since her body had just been baptised in pain the Emperor would presumably be satisfied. Instead, she was instructed to take a shower and then make her way to the mess hall on deck four for lunch.

Her body still ached from the morning's run, and so Roslyn's heart dropped again when the cook spooned grey slop into her rectangular bowl. It made her immediately aware that there were probably feasts going on all over Carnford where folks would be eating their largest meal of the year. Roslyn probably wouldn't get to eat anything to that degree ever again.

She sat down, tired beyond belief, on the last free space on the bench at her squad's table and put half a spoonful's worth in her mouth. It tasted of nothing but it's own gritty texture. She winced.

“So,” said Sister Synthecia leaning forward from the other side of the table. “You managed to dress appropriately for lunch at least, huh new meat?”

The sisters at the table giggled, but Roslyn ignored her, she could barely concentrate beyond moving her tired arms and instead focused on eating her tasteless slop.

Undeterred Synthecia continued. “All of this must be pretty different for you huh, new meat? Different from the cushy little convent you came from?”

Roslyn continued trying to eat.

“What exactly did you even do on that planet? No heretics to purge, no uprisings to put down. Sounds like it must have been a frakking holiday camp.”

Roslyn figured that Synthecia would just keep going, so decided to answer. “We served the Emperor in our own way. We performed ceremonies, preached scripture, saw to folks spiritual needs.”

“Oh yeah?” Synthecia said with a smile on her face. “I'm sure you saw to a lot of folks 'spiritual needs' am I right.”

Roslyn's jaw dropped as the other sisters giggled. As tired as she was, she couldn't let the insult stand. “I'm sorry, how dare you! We were as devout to the Emperor as we could be.” She tried to think of something to wipe the smile off Synthecia's face. “At least we knew how to shower by ourselves.”

Suddenly Senna slid up the bench next to Synthecia. “What did you just say?” she shouted at Roslyn.

Roslyn shrank back into her seat, suddenly regretting saying anything at all.

Senna stood “If you've got a problem with...”

A gloved hand hit Senna's shoulder.

“_Is_ there a problem here Sister Senna?” Augusta said.

“No Sister Superior,” she said, staring straight to the wall behind Roslyn. “Just stretching my legs.”

“Good,” Augusta said, glancing over at Roslyn. “Lunch is over in ten minutes, don't go wasting any time.”

“Yes Sister Superior,” she said, before sitting down and shovelling in a mouthful of the grey slop. She continued to stare aggressively at Roslyn.

“Don't listen to those two,” said the sister sitting next to Roslyn, who had combed back white hair and a pronounced nose. “I'll be honest I didn't expect you to cope as well as you did.”

“Shut the frak up Druga,” Synthecia said.

“No, it's true,” Druga said, before turning to Roslyn and giving her a soft smile. “After all, you faced down your first warp-travel with barely a complaint.”

Roslyn wondered what the sister was talking about. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Warp-travel?”

“Yeah,” said another sister sitting opposite her with, her round face with small eyes and dark hair holding a smile. “You know. Travelling through the warp. Most people don't get through their first trip without vomiting.”

It took Roslyn a few moments to piece together what they had said. “The warp?” she asked. “You mean, the realm of daemons and dark gods? That which we only travel at the grace of the Golden Throne? We're travelling through it now?”

The group at the table nodded. “The jump was last night,” Druga said.

Roslyn was already so overwhelmed that she wasn't sure where to categorise this in her hierarchy of worry. The ship, right now, was surrounded by the swirling vortexes of a realm barely understood and barely tamed by man, and they were sitting around a table eating slop.

“You okay new meat?” asked the sister opposite her.

For a moment Roslyn thought she _was _going to throw up. Then she mentally scolded herself. Of course she would be travelling through the Warp. _However else were they expected to travel?_ It was just another reminder of how redundant and extraneous she felt her time here was becoming.

In the end, Roslyn figured she had more immediate concerns to worry about. “Could you please all stop calling me new meat,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have a name. It's Sister Roslyn.”

“Sorry new me- uh I mean Sister Roslyn,” Druga said, before looking down at the slop she was eating and smiling. “I guess we all haven't eaten real meat in so long we can't stop talking about it.”

The sisters on the table all laughed, and Roslyn realised that this was the first time today it wasn't directed at her.

The rest of Roslyn's meal continued without complaint, and she began to relax. She tried to convince herself that this was just a normal day, and that sitting, tired out, on a cold bench eating tasteless paste was the most natural thing in the world, as she imagined it soon would become so to her.

Once the meal was over the sisters began shuffling away in single file. Roslyn pulled the scroll out of her pocket and read what was the next of her affairs. For a moment she dreaded unfolding the piece of paper, fearing what was to come.

Eventually she looked.

Weapons training.

While Roslyn was unsure what the training would entail, she was sure it could not have been worse than the morning's exercise.

On her way out of the mess hall she saw Sister Superior Augusta leaning by the wall.

“Sister Roslyn, a moment if you will?” she said.

Roslyn swallowed, and walked over nervously. She was unsure how to approach Augusta after the morning's humiliation.

“Yes Sister Superior?” she said with respect.

Augusta led her over to a side corridor so she was out of earshot of the other sisters. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, after this morning.” she said, with concern in her voice.

A part of Roslyn wanted to scream at Augusta. To tell her that she was doing terribly, of course, and how betrayed she had felt after she had been so friendly to her the previous day, and how confused she was now after the way she treated her that morning.

“I'm fine Sister Superior,” Roslyn instead said.

“You know why I had to do it to you don't you?” Augusta said.

Roslyn didn't know what do say, so she simply said. “I got what I deserved Sister Superior.”

Augusta smiled. “No you didn't. It was your first day and you got dressed in the wrong clothes. Anyone could have made that mistake.”

Roslyn wasn't sure where Augusta was going, so she didn't say anything.

Augusta sighed. “Look Sister Roslyn, I'm a squad leader. I have to lead. If I'd have gone easy on you this morning then the other sisters would start wondering who else I'm going to go easy on, and then the next thing you know I've got insubordination in my squad. I'd be demoted, if I was lucky.”

Roslyn looked up and nodded.

“That's _if_ I'm lucky. If I'm unlucky then the sisters get so used to ignoring my command that they don't follow my orders on the battlefield, and then I've got dead sisters to answer for,” she said.

Roslyn shivered, another reminder of what the future might have in store for her.

“So I don't want you to think of me as cruel or harsh, but I do want you to know I'll treat you the same way as everyone else. If you mess up, I'll have to dole out punishment.”

She studied Augusta's face. Her leader looked genuinely torn about how she had treated Roslyn that morning. However, she suspected that Augusta could be toying with her still, so she didn't say anything.

“Alright,” Augusta said, having got no response from Roslyn. “Well, I just wanted to let you know I get no pleasure from it. Dismissed.”

Augusta turned to walk away, but then Roslyn spoke out.

“Uh, Sister Superior?” she said.

Augusta turned with what might have been a slight smile on her face. “Yes Sister Roslyn?”

“I just wanted to ask you about something.” Roslyn said nervously.

“Ask away,” Augusta said.

“There was, uh, one of the sisters. She was in a maintenance closet and she... didn't look well.”

Augusta nodded. “Sister Chalice right?”

“Yes,” Roslyn said, surprised that Augusta had figured out who she was referring to so quickly. “That was her name. She seemed like she was...”

“On something?” Augusta said.

Roslyn nodded.

“We've been having problems with Sister Chalice for some time. She's hooked on obscura. No idea how it's been getting on the ship but someone's been smuggling the stuff on board. If I had to guess I'd say Synthecia but I've got nothing to go on there.”

“Is there nothing that can be done for her?” Roslyn asked.

Augusta shook her head. “Chalice went through a rough few battles two years ago. Sole survivor of her team. I think she takes the obscura to cope with it. Normally she'd be disciplined, maybe even sent off to the repentia, but the Order of the Weeping Martyr needs all the able bodies it can get, and she is a good soldier when the time calls for it.”

A chill ran down Roslyn's spine. “The repentia? The penitent legions?”

“Sisters have been condemned to it for less,” Augusta said, her smiled long gone. “Stripped of your possessions, placed straight on the front line until you serve The Emperor in death.”

“For narcotics abuse?” Roslyn said.

“You think that's forgivable?” Augusta said, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, no, but, a few boys used to grow stote-weed back on Carnford,” Roslyn said apologetically. “It didn't seem to do them any harm smoking it every couple of weeks.”

“I don't know what stote-weed is but I can tell you it's not obscura.” Augusta shook her head and looked to the ground. “Stuff like that will eat you from the inside out. Not that that's the point. The vows we took forbid such narcotics. Like I said, if Zennica didn't need so many able bodied sisters Chalice would have ended up strapped to a penitent-engine by now.”

“A penitent-engine,” Roslyn said, her eyes widening. “They're a real thing?”

“What made you think they weren't?” asked Augusta.

“Well when it was mentioned in the texts,” Roslyn said. “I always thought the term penitent-engine was a sort of metaphor. Like, if you fail the Emperor you're trapped in a machine of your own guilt. That sort of thing.”

Suddenly Augusta burst out laughing. Roslyn blushed while she waited for her leader to recover.

“I'm sorry,” Augusta said, wiping her eyes. “It's just that the Imperium isn't all that big on metaphors Sister Roslyn. Usually if someone mentions a fifty foot war machine they're usually talking about a literal fifty foot war machine.”

Roslyn looked to the ground, and felt silly. She decided to bring the conversation back on course. “Well anyway Sister Superior, I just thought I'd ask how you'd like me to act around Sister Chalice in future. She seemed friendly, talkative. I don't know if I should offer a hand of friendship or not.”

“Well, don't encourage her if that's what you mean,” Augusta said humorously, before realising that Roslyn was being serious. “But I suppose a few words of reassurance couldn't hurt. Most sisters give Chalice a wide berth. If you think you could be someone to talk to, I don't know.”

Augusta shrugged.

“I'll use my own judgement,” Roslyn said.

“A pro-active Sister is a valuable Sister,” Augusta said, and Roslyn recognised it as a quote from one of the texts she used to read back at the convent. “But don't let me keep you, Sister Roslyn. You've got weapons training, which means it's time for you to experience the real face of being a Battle Sister.”

****

It stood waiting for her at the end of the room. Polished to a sheen, standing proud in all it's blue and yellow glory. Roslyn had seen Battle Sisters walking the corridors wearing power armour, and her first experience with the order had been seeing Zennica tower over them in her own. Still, the knowledge that the beautiful, powerful, unforgettable suit that stood in front of Roslyn was there for her benefit alone filled her with a sense of wonder and awe.

“Sister Roslyn,” came the robotic tone of Enginseer Callisa. “Once again you seem unresponsive. Shall I call the Hospitaller?”

“No,” Roslyn said, before a smile came on to her face. “No Engineseer It's just that I never thought I'd actually wear power armour that wasn't covered in rust.”

“Yes,” said the Engineseer. “Palatine Zennica told me of the relic you had back at your convent.” There was a stuffiness to their voice, if it could be called that. “On some worlds you would all have faced punishment for leaving a holy relic in such a condition.”

Roslyn was beginning to wonder if there was was anything you wouldn't get punished for out in the Imperium. “Well we didn't exactly have much to clean it up with,” she said. “Whoever left if behind didn't leave us with the tools to maintain it. Besides, we didn't exactly have any Tech-priest's volunteering to lend a hand. Maybe they're the ones who warrant punishment.”

The Engineseer seemed dumbstruck at the accusation, yet remained perfectly still. Then they moved closer towards the armour and carried on regardless.

“Yes, well,” they said. “It is good that you have already had experience with power armour, that saves us a lot of time. We've taken your measurements from the Hospitaller. The suit has been fitted to your size and build.”

The Engineseer beckoned her closer, and though her muscles were still tired, Roslyn stepped forward.

“To release the chest plate the latch should be here,” they pointed below the torso. Flicking down the front of the armour slid forward.

“Everything else you should already know,” the Engineseer said. “Or should do, in time.”

Roslyn stepped up on the foot stool in front of her. Up she got, and climbed into the opening left by the raised chest piece. She slid her legs and arms into the soft openings, then raised her arms and pulled the chest shut.

She felt the servos hiss to life as she took a few steps forward. Adrenalin immediately pulsed throughout her body. The feeling was night and day from her experience with the old armour at the convent. The movements were smooth, requiring no effort beyond a gesture. Despite how worn out she was from the morning's exercise she now felt as though she could run five hundred laps of the cargo bay no problem. It were as though she were ten feet tall.

Callisa hadn't waited around, and had already left by the time Roslyn was walking up and down the machine-room with a massive smile on her face.

****

The walk from the machine-room to the armoury was the happiest Roslyn had been all day. She felt as though she were a child again, having been given the best Emperor's Day present a girl could wish for.

Sisters gave her odd stares as she marched down the metal corridors, each stomp giving out a resounding 'clump' every time her feet hit the metal floor. Roslyn wasn't afraid anymore. She felt as though she could take on the universe.

Her face still had a massive grin on it when she had arrived in the armoury. Even though the room was rocking with the sounds of gunfire it wasn't enough to turn her mood.

“Yeah, Sister Roslyn, we get it” said the Sister waiting for her. “It's your first time in power armour, try not to soil yourself with excitement.”

The woman would be large without her power armour, and had very dark skin with her black hair cut into a flat top. She had the kind of face that a person could tell had no time for frivolities.

“You mean like Sister Synthecia did?” Roslyn said, almost without thinking.

Roslyn could see the tattooed Sister had already already started at the shooting range. She turned, having overheard the remark. Her face scrunched up in fierce anger. “Oh, you just wait until tonight you...”

“Sister Synthecia did I say you were allowed to end the exercise?” the instructor asked.

Synthecia glared at Roslyn, then returned to firing at the targets.

“The name is Sister Ironheart,” she said. “And don't get too cocky Sister Roslyn, you haven't fired your first boltgun yet. There's time for soiling yourself still.”

Sister Roslyn nodded, but she still felt boosted by the confidence the armour gave her. She hadn't planned to let the insult about Synthecia slip out like that, it had just happened.

“Alright let's get you started,” Ironheart said, leading her over to a table that had numerous weapons laid out on it. “Go ahead. Pick one up.”

Roslyn knew what a bolgun looked like from the murals and statues that stood in the convent on Carnford, but she hadn't quite been prepared for the size of the thing. It was like a giant red iron box with a golden imperial eagle on the side.

She picked it up.

“Okay,” Ironheart said. “Wise to go for the boltgun first, since that's what you're going to be using the most. “Pull that latch back there,” she said, pointing to a slight protrusion from it's side.

Roslyn complied, finding it surprisingly easy with the strength the armour granted her.

“Okay, now if that was loaded it would eject any unspent rounds, but for today, we know it's empty,” she pointed to one of the massive magazines. “Time to load it up. Pick up the magazine and put it into the bottom of the gun. You'll know it's in when you feel it click.”

Roslyn followed the instructions, slotting the magazine into the big rectangular hole on the bottom of the boltgun. It almost felt as though she were solving a child's puzzle.

“Okay, now let's assume that you've emptied the rounds and you want to eject the magazine.” Ironheart pointed to a silver circle on the side, near the back. “Just push that in there, can you do that for me?”

Roslyn complied and the magazine dropped out and bounced along the table. Ironheart quickly picked it back up.

“You're going to want to catch it if you don't want it getting away. Out on the battlefield a loose magazine on the ground is something a fellow sister can lose their footing under. Get it?”

“Yes Sister Ironheart,” Roslyn said eagerly.

“Alright, we're almost finished. Now, show me again how to ready your boltgun.”

Roslyn repeated the procedure. She pulled back the latch to check for unspent rounds, then put the magazine into the bottom.

“Right, good.” said Ironheart. “Most sisters forget the check the rounds first time so well done for paying attention.”

Roslyn's heart swelled with pride. After the morning's fiasco it was good to feel like she might be able to cope as a Battle Sister after all.

“Alright, last part before we take you to the range. See that dial on the side?”

Roslyn turned the boltgun as instructed, to see that there was a slight, tiny dial almost unnoticeable under the Imperial eagle proudly spreading it's wings.

“That's your safety,” she said. “That's the most important part. When we're performing ceremonies, performing rites of war, or just all round not in situation that warrants firing, then that dial needs to face up.”

Roslyn nodded.

“What way does it have to face Sister Roslyn?” Ironheart asked.

“Face up.” she said with a smile.

“Good,” Ironheart said, not returning the smile. “Turn it down one notch.”

Roslyn did.

“Now it's on single shot. Most of the time we recommend this setting. It saves ammo, and makes you think about your shots.”

Roslyn nodded.

“Turn it down again.”

Roslyn did.

“Okay, now it's on full automatic. It's not often you'll fire it on full auto, but if you're in a situation that warrants it, you're going to need it.”

Roslyn nodded again.

“What was that I said about full auto?” Ironheart asked.

“I..uh...” Roslyn muttered. “I should only use it if the circumstances call for it.”

“Good,” Ironheart said. “Well, now you know the procedure, it's time to see how you shoot. Follow me to the range.”

Ironheart led Roslyn into the adjacent room with a heavy stomp of her feet. The room was filled with the sound and vibrations from the heavy clatter of gunfire. Instinctively Roslyn reached to cover her ears, before realising what a fool she'd look if she did.

“Alright,” Ironheart called, holding up a hand. “Cease for a moment sisters.”

The others in the room stopped firing, and Roslyn swallowed as she saw Synthecia watching her with judgemental eyes.

“Now,” Ironheart said, looking only at Roslyn. “What's first?”

Roslyn immediately looked down at the bolter and flicked the dial to single shot.

“Good,” Ironheart said, looking impressed. “You really were paying attention. Most sisters first time, they walk right in and aim at a target with the safety still on. Well then...”

Ironheart walked over to a command console that appeared to control the targets in front of her. After punching one on the buttons, a plain white board with a black silhouette of a man's torso popped up from the ground and moved towards them. It stopped at about the mid point of the range.

“Medium range target,” Ironheart said. “Shouldn't be too difficult. Put up the gun, aim down the sights, shoot.”

Roslyn looked over at the target. She felt as though the eyes of the other sisters were burning into her, and that the target was further away than it actually was.

“When you're ready Sister Roslyn,” Ironheart said as the other sisters whispered to each other, no doubt speculating how well she would perform.

Roslyn raised the weapon, a simple task thanks to the power armour's support. She pulled it towards here eyeline, looking down the groove of the ironsights, just like she used to do with the air-rifle when she shot cans back at the convent.

Roslyn could barely believe it had only been a day.

Even so, the boltgun was far from the air-rifle. It was enormous in comparison, and aiming the thing blocked off the majority of her view. The sights themselves were bulky also, blocking off most of where she wanted to shoot.

Aware that she was under the scrutiny of the other sisters, she carefully aimed for the centre of the target, and pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening. She didn't even register the shot as she felt the recoil vibrate through her arm to the rest of her body. It were as though her teeth were going to be rattled out of her mouth and she felt like she had just been hit in the face with a sledgehammer.

Once Roslyn had came to her senses she could hear slight giggling from the other sisters. She turned to look at the target.

A large, clean chunk of the corner had been blasted off.

“Well, at least you hit something,” Ironheart said with a sigh.

Roslyn's new found confidence nosedived rapidly with the look of superiority she saw on Synthecia's face.

Ironheart put a hand on her shoulder pauldron. “Let's try again Sister Roslyn.”

She felt Ironheart put her own armoured hands on Roslyn's wrists and pull them up, helping her aim the gun,

“The boltgun fires rocket propelled rounds, not bullets,” Ironheart said in her still ringing ear. “If you're not ready for it the recoil can knock you off. Hold it tight, and focus down the sights.”

Roslyn tried again, pulling the boltgun close and aiming carefully. She aimed lower this time, ready for the kickback.

She squeezed the trigger.

Despite anticipating the recoil, the second shot felt somehow worse than the first, but ears ringing, and arms shaking, Roslyn recovered quickly, to notice her shot had hit the silhouette in the right shoulder.

“It's a notable improvement,” said Ironheart, leaving Roslyn wondering if that was praise or not.

“Maybe she needs a better teacher,” said Synthecia, leaning cockily against her own console.

“Stow that drak Sister Synthecia,” Ironheart said, taking a few steps forward and pointing at her.

“I'm just saying that maybe she needs someone to go a little harder on her,” Synthecia said with a smile.

Roslyn didn't say anything, but wondered how much harder her day was supposed to get.

“And who is that going to be,” Ironheart said. “You? Your average is way below mine.”

Synthecia stood up straight and squared up to Ironheart. “Just because you have a tough sounding name doesn't make you an authority here Ironheart.”

Ironheart smiled. “No. You're right, it doesn't,” she said, before walking over to the console on the far side of the range. Methodically, she worked her way down, pushing button after button, causing the range to fill with targets.

Synthecia and the other sisters watched her, wondering what she was doing.

Ironheart then swiftly moved to the other side of the armoury and retrieved what Roslyn could only conclude was the biggest gun she had ever seen. It was like a bolter, but it was the size of a vehicle engine. Either way, Ironheart didn't seem to show any difficulty handling it.

Without a second to register, Ironheart began firing. The room was filled with deafening cracks that made the boltguns sound like children's toys. Explosive rounds flew past the other sisters in the range, causing some to jump for cover or duck down.

It was over in moments. Roslyn, frozen in place, looked around as smoke and steam emerging from the big gun wafted across the room.

Ironheart pointed.

Roslyn and the other sisters turned to the range to see each of the targets had a perfect hit in the heads of each silhouette.

“That's why I'm an authority here,” Ironheart said to Synthecia, and any other sister who cared to listen.

With no further voices of dissent, she stomped back over to Roslyn.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's get you familiar with the rest of these weapons.”


	5. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Five

By Jack Harvey

Once weapons training was over Roslyn was surprised to learn that she had now spent almost a full day on board The Victorium. Despite feeling as though an eternity had passed since she had left Carnford, the day itself hadn't felt all that long, and Roslyn began to wonder if life on The Victorium would not be as terrible as she had first thought.

After returning the power armour for a routine check and a very brief evening meal of more protein paste, where Synthecia continued to glare at Roslyn in silence, she was informed that it was time for evening prayer.

Despite the fact that she had attended one the previous night, she had barely paid attention due to her sense of grief and displacement. With that in mind, Roslyn was considering this her first real prayer session with the Order of the Weeping Martyr.

While the chapel was considered merely serviceable by the sisters on the ship, it felt much more grand than the convent she had come from. It was decorated with fine statues of sisters past, and it's walls were covered in murals depicting the Horus Heresy and other noble events mentioned in the scriptures. The decorations were made all the grander with the use of gold leaf coating, and some even appeared to have some form of precious rock embedded in them.

The room was high. Higher than most rooms on board the ship, and likely went up two or three decks. Certainly there was a raised seating area for those who Roslyn assumed were higher ranking members of the order, while there was room enough to seat several hundred battle sisters.

Even so, most of the pews were empty, with only about a third of them filled. Roslyn wondered if this was because other sisters were on duty, or there were less on the ship than it was made to accommodate.

While Roslyn was busy staring around the room, she hadn't been paying attention to the main pulpit, and was surprised to hear a familiar voice reciting the first reading.

It was Sister Superior Augusta. She was thanking the divine Emperor for granting them safe passage through the warp, and another day for them to prove their loyalty to him. It sounded as though it was from the heart, but Roslyn could sense that the recital was a little roughshod. She didn't know whether Augusta wrote it herself, or some other sister did, but she felt it could have used some work.

“The Emperor Protects,” Augusta said, once she had finished.

“The Emperor Protects,” they all repeated.

“Thank you sisters,” Augusta said. “And now, for tonight the evening recital will not be performed by a Sister Superior, as is tradition.”

Roslyn looked around, wondering what she was talking about.

“Normally we expect multiple new members on a journey such as this,” she said. “But today we have just been blessed with one. Sister Roslyn.”

The other sisters sat in silence. Some who knew Roslyn turned to look at her. She blushed.

“Still, one daughter of the Emperor is better than none, and so, we ask, under his guiding light, for Sister Roslyn to lead tonight's prayer.”

It took a second for Sister Roslyn to register what Augusta had just said. Then, she wanted to laugh. After all the difficult, painful things she had had to go through that day, this would be almost nothing. Roslyn had been reciting prayers all her life, if nothing else she had gotten a lot of practice.

She stood up, aware that all the eyes were upon her, and made her way to the pulpit.

Like the rest of the chapel it was far grander and finely decorated than what she was used to back in the convent. The texts she was left to read rested on a slab white marble that to familiar eyes would appear eroded, though to Roslyn it was grander than any pulpit she had used on Carnford.

She held up the texts and said, “The word of the Emperor.”

The other sisters bowed their heads. Even Synthecia, who she expected to just carry on glaring.

She looked down at the page that had been left open for her and once again and almost wanted to laugh. She had recited it a thousand times, she could practically have said it in her sleep. She put the book down, not even needing it's guidance.

“From the lightning and the tempest, our Emperor, deliver us.” She began. “From plague, deceit, temptation and war, Our Emperor, deliver us. From the scourge of the Kraken, Our Emperor, deliver us.”

Suddenly Roslyn felt as though she was back at the convent again, that the people sitting in front of her were friendly faces, and that the sun was shining through the windows on a fine Carnford day. It didn't matter what happened next, this was where she belonged.

“From the blasphemy of the fallen, our Emperor, deliver us.” She continued. “From the begetting of daemons our Emperor, deliver us. From the curse of the mutant, our Emperor, deliver us. That thou wouldst bring them only death, that thou shouldst spare none, that thou should pardon none, we beseech thee, destroy them.”

Then, just as suddenly, Roslyn's feeling of comfort left her. As she said the last few words, words that she had recited over a thousand times, she realised something. When she had previously spoke those words, they were merely theoretical. _The traitor, the mutant, the heretic_, she beseeched The Emperor to _destroy_ them far from where she would ever witness such a thing. To Roslyn, those words were for the benefit of someone else, far away in the stars.

Now however, she was to be the hand of the Emperor. She would be the one to carry out his will, and when she beseeched him to destroy their enemies, it would also fall on her to carry out that sentence.

Her lip was trembling when she realised that the other sisters were looking to her, waiting for her to finish.

“The... Emperor Protects,” she said, still dwelling on what she had just recited.

“The Emperor Protects,” the room said in unison, and they all stood.

“Thank you Sister Roslyn,” Augusta said, more to the assembled sisters than to her. “You did great,” she then said, slapping her on the shoulder.

Roslyn nodded and smiled, but couldn't help but feel as though an innocence was being left behind on that pulpit as she walked back to her seat.

****

Returning to the showers that evening, Roslyn knew to keep her head down. Even so, Synthecia and Senna again decided to share a shower. Again they decided to run their hands over each other. Again they decided to do it right next to Roslyn.

Despite the fact that her muscles ached, and were practically begging to relax under warm water, she quickly washed herself and returned to get dressed.

Halfway to getting back into her vestments a sister from behind her spoke.

“You really took the reading in your stride,” the voice said. “Believe it or not most sisters have hang ups about that sort of thing.”

Roslyn turned, it was the short sister who was talking to her at the lunch earlier in the day.

“Believe it or not,” she repeated. “Most sisters hate getting up on the pulpit.”

“I don't know why,” Roslyn said. “It's only reading words from a text.”

“Yeah, it's easy to say that but,” the sister stopped and thought for a moment. “It's not just that, is it? You have to sound like you mean it. I think most sisters are worried they'd embarrass themselves. In front of the Emperor I mean.”

Roslyn pulled up and fastened the sash around her waist. “Well, I think The Emperor is more interested in deeds than words,” she said.

The sister sniggered. “Yeah, well. I still think you did a brave thing today.”

Of all the things Roslyn had done it surprised her that she was getting praise for what had taken the least effort. “Thank you,” she said, in bewilderment. “Thank you Sister...?”

“Oh,” the sister said, realising she hadn't introduced herself. “It's Sister Marie.”

“Where are you from Sister Marie?” Roslyn asked, figuring that it couldn't hurt to try and clear the air with a few of the sisters.

“My family come from Harakon originally,” she said with a smile. “We have a lot of relatives in the Warhawks. We're even distant relations to Colonel Yris Aikino don't you know? It's a noble tradition for our family to send their first children off to the Schola Prodigium to become officers.”

Roslyn didn't understand half the words that had just come out of Marie's mouth, but she let the girl continue.

“I was the first child,” she said, her smile quickly fading. “Didn't get to become an officer.”

“What happened?” Roslyn asked, sensing that it was a source of anxiety for Marie.

“My parents said I was too fat,” she said, pointing to what even Roslyn could see was a small amount of weight hanging from her belly. “I argued with them, but they insisted all the same I wouldn't be able to hack it in the Warhawks. Wanted me to stay and give the family a couple more heirs.”

“So how did you end up in the Order of the Weeping Martyr?” Roslyn asked.

“I committed myself to the convent on Trita'som.” Marie answered. “Daughter of a prestigious family? They jumped at the chance to take me. By the time I'd taken my vows it was too late for them to do anything about it.”

Roslyn nodded with a small smile on her face. She too had seen push back from her parents when joining the convent, but she dared not wonder what decision she would have made if they had forbidden it.

“You know what the irony is?” Marie said. “Sister Ironheart is probably three times my weight, and she's one of the finest sisters in the order. I wonder what my parents would have thought of that.”

“Not this drek again,” moaned a sister from the corner of the locker room. She was tall, and had her black hair in a bob, white highlights ran down the closest of her sides. Roslyn realised she was the one who was missing the arm.

“She asked, Sister Joan. I answered,” Marie said, shouting at her.

“Yeah,” Joan said, throwing a towel at her. “You suck up to the new meat then.”

The sister then picked up some kind of metal apparatus and stormed out.

“Sorry,” Roslyn said instinctively.

“Ah, don't be,” replied Marie. “Sister Joan has had a chip on her shoulder since she lost her arm.”

Roslyn stopped for a moment and paused. “If you don't mind me asking,” she said carefully. “What happened with her arm?”

“Traitor insurgency,” Marie said. “We were only there for fire support, but a guard unit went missing and her team was sent out to look for them. Traitors booby trapped a door with pretty much every explosive they could get their hands on. Joan was unlucky enough to be the one to go in first.”

“Oh,” Roslyn said, quickly becoming more desensitised to stories of violence than she had expected.

“Well, I say unlucky,” Marie said. “But really she was lucky it was only her arm that got minced.”

Roslyn swallowed nervously.

“Seriously, I was the one who had to carry her on a gurney to Sister Brunhild,” she said with a laugh. “I don't think I'll ever forget watching her chop that thing off and cauterise the stump with that blow torch of hers. The smell stays with you for days.”

Roslyn was trying to to not imagine the ordeal. She was trying even harder to imagine it not happening to her.

For Marie's part, she had not detected Roslyn's discomfort. “I know, it's not actually a blow torch but, they give things here such weird names. What is it, a personal fractal bioflamer or something?”

“Thank you for the talk Sister Marie,” Roslyn said, standing with a half hearted smile. “Let's continue this some other time. Today has been particularly hard on me.”

“Oh yes,” she said politely. “Please forgive me. I guess you must be pretty beat after that run this morning.”

“Not a problem,” Roslyn said, making her way for the door a little quicker than would have been polite. “The Emperor protects!”

“Oh,” Marie said, putting her hands together and bowing. “The Emperor protects.”

****

Finally, it was time for bed. Roslyn never thought she would be happy to see the tomb-like bunk that awaited her, but as her muscles ached and her eyelids hung heavy, there was not a place she'd rather be.

With a slump she sat down to undress. While she kept herself to herself, she couldn't help but notice Sister Druga was climbing up the bunk above her.

“Goodnight Sister Druga,” she said carelessly.

“Oh,” Druga said, surprised. “Uh, good night Sister, uh...”

“Roslyn,” she said, putting the woman out of her misery.

“Sister Roslyn, right,” she said, before disappearing onto the bunk with a loud creak of the metal frame.

Roslyn was starting to remove her boots, when Druga's white hair popped back into view from above her.

“Uh, Sister Roslyn?” she said.

“Yes,” Roslyn said, making a tired smile.

“Uh, a few Sister have been talking and words going round you've been a bit chatty with Sister Chalice,” Druga said.

“If by chatty you mean one conversation in a closet then yes,” said Roslyn. “We have talked.”

“Right, uh, well,” Druga was struggling for a moment to find the words. “It's just a few of the sisters think she has a bit of the jinx gene, you know?”

“What?” Roslyn said, tired, and not really prepared for the conversation.

“Well, you know she was the sole survivor of her squad right? And her life seems to have gone to shit ever since. I guess I should just warn you that it might be best to keep your distance.”

Roslyn wanted to say that she hadn't met Chalice by design, but even if she had the poor girl seemed troubled and kind words go a long way. Chalice had been there for Roslyn, in her own strange way, when a lot of sisters hadn't.

However, she instead said; “Thank you for the advice Sister Druga.”

Druga smiled, and brushed away a loose white hair, before disappearing back into the bunk.

Roslyn had finished getting into her night gown now, and despite the bustle and chatter of sisters winding down around her, she lay on her pillow and closed her eyes. Sleep felt imminent.

“What in the Emperor's name is this?” came a shout from the end of her bunk.

Roslyn's eyes shot open as she saw a figure standing at the end of her bunk, near her lockbox. She could hear sisters mumbling expletives like 'frag' and 'drak' to each other.

Roslyn climbed out of bed to see what the commotion was.

The woman was tall and had long braided hair. She seemed older than most of the sisters, and was clearly dressed in a different type of vestment. She wore long grey robes with gold medallions hanging from her neck that bore the imperial eagle. Nowhere to be seen was the blue and yellow that had seemed so ubiquitous to the Order of the Weeping Martyr.

“Is there something wrong Sister?” Roslyn asked, as politely as she could through sleepy eyes.

Suddenly, and without warning, the woman struck Roslyn across the face with the back of a gloved hand.

“Sister?!” the woman shouted.

Roslyn had fallen back, but had steadied herself by putting a hand on her bunk's frame. While the strike had not been particularly strong, the speed at which it had collided with her tender flesh left a sting that she had never thought she would experience.

She felt tears prick at her eyes again.

“Do not address me as as though I am one of your common heard,” the woman said loudly. “Address me properly.”

Roslyn had no idea who this woman was, or what the correct honorific was. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“I'm sorry Deacon!” the woman shouted.

“I'm sorry Deacon,” Roslyn repeated in a terrified squeak.

“Now Sister,” the Deacon hissed. “Would you care to tell me what three of the Ecclesiarchy's most holy candles are doing here wasted on the floor?”

Roslyn looked down. On the floor lay the crumbled melted candles that she had brushed off her lockbox. Nobody seemed to have cleared them away.

“Well?” the woman asked.

Roslyn was honest. “I don't know,” she said.

“What?” the Deacon called, pulling back her arm for what looked like another strike.

“Hey, come on!” shouted Sister Marie from the other side of the dorm.

“Excuse me?” the Deacon said, mortified that someone had spoke up.

Suddenly sister Marie shrunk back. “I'm sorry your grace. I misspoke.”

The Deacon sneered and glanced around the room, before pointing back at Roslyn. “Clear away this mess.”

“Yes Deacon,” Roslyn said.

“And if I see any nonsense like this again I will use all my powers to see you punished to the fullest of my authority,” the Deacon said. “Do you understand?”

“Yes Deacon,” Roslyn said, keeping her head down.

“Good,” she said. “The eyes of the Emperor are upon you sisters. Never forget that.”

With the room in deadly silence she stomped out of the room.

Roslyn hadn't noticed that tears had been streaming down her face until she bent down to pick up the candles. The tears began to fall onto the metal floor in little droplets, and Roslyn found herself wondering if she would be chastised for wetting the floor too.

“Well frak me,” said Druga, once Roslyn had returned from disposing of the candles. “You really screwed that up Sister Roslyn.”

With a hand over her eyes to hide the tears Roslyn leaned against the bunk's frame. “I don't... I don't even know what just happened.”

“Frag!” said a buzzcut haired sister from the bunk to her side. “You probably didn't even know who that was did you?”

Hand still over her face, Roslyn shook her head.

“That was Deacon Trietta,” Druga said. “She's one of the priests stationed on The Victorium.”

“Priests?” Roslyn said. “I thought this was a Sororitas ship?”

“Sororitas' just the militant arm of the Ecclesiarchy,” the other sister said, and Roslyn noticed that the girl had a nasty scar that ran along her cheek, making it looks as though she was constantly sneering. “Got as much right to be here as the rest of us.”

“What Sister Touro is trying to say,” said Druga. “Is that there's a lot of reasons that preachers get stationed with battle sisters. They act as advisors. Independent adjudicators. That sort of thing.”

“And they're here to keep an eye on us,” Touro said.

“Yeah, well, either way they've got no right to get up in Sororitas business,” Druga nodded. “But the preachers and sisters haven't exactly been cosy with each other since Cardinal Crenshaw died under Sister Chalice's watch.”

Roslyn glanced up at Druga.

“I warned you she was trouble,” she said. “One conversation with her and now you're on Trietta's drak list. It's a sign.”

“Honestly,” Roslyn said, sitting down on her bed in exhaustion and wiping the tears away with her nightgown. “I don't know who's drak list I haven't ended up on today.”

“That's the spirit new meat,” Touro said. “Expect the worst, then you can never be disappointed.”

“Shut the frag up Touro,” Druga said.

“What?” Touro shouted back. “I'm only being honest.”

The two sisters carried on arguing as Roslyn stopped paying attention. She'd had about all she could take for the day, and it didn't take any more than lying down on her pillow for exhaustion, both physical and emotional, to send her fast to sleep.


	6. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Six

By Jack Harvey

Roslyn heard the morning bell ring, and groaned as she was roused from the deepest slumber she had ever known. Unlike the previous morning, where she felt she hadn't had enough sleep, this morning she felt as though she had far too much, and dreaded the idea of leaving the comfort of her sheets.

Still, if the previous day had taught her anything it was that she could be punished for even the mildest infraction, and not wanting to repeat any of her previous ordeals, she forced her way out of bed, and made sure she got dressed for morning exercise.

She made it to the cargo bay with the rest of the sisters and stood in line, ready to listen to Augusta's instruction. At first she was worried that she had made some other mistake she was unaware of, but as no chastisement came, Roslyn began to relax, and felt like just another face in the line.

That didn't last long, however, as once the one hundred lap run of the cargo bay had started she soon began to fall behind. Wheezing and gasping, the giggling sisters of her squad ran past her numerous times, and each indignity felt worse than the last.

“Come on Sister Roslyn,” shouted Augusta. “You're a battle sister now, the rampaging hoards of heretics, mutants and xenos aren't going to be waiting around.”

Roslyn clenched her teeth, and pushed forward. She felt the soles of her boots grinding into her feet and the fast forming layer of sweat causing friction around her armpits. She closed her eyes, and tried to turn off all distractions, not least of those the constant nagging of doubt that a terrible mistake had been made on bringing her here.

The experience had been no better than the previous day, with Roslyn finishing long after the other sisters had already done their press ups and completed the other hundred laps.

At least, however, she hadn't been asked to do double.

Limbs dragging along in pain, she once again showered alone, but managed to make it to morning prayer with the other sisters on time.

Roslyn flopped herself onto a pew next to Sister Druga.

“Can I ask you something?” she muttered below her breath as she watched a Sister Superior sorting through texts at the pulpit.

“Sure, Sister...uh,” Druga responded.

Roslyn wanted to roll her eyes at Druga still not remembering her name, but was too exhausted to make an issue of it. “Roslyn.”

“Sister Roslyn,” Druga nodded. “That's right. What is it you'd like to know?”

“How long,” Roslyn started. “How long does it take until you start keeping up with the rest of the sisters?”

“What?”

“I just don't know how many more mornings I can face being so far behind,” Roslyn said, leaning her head back on the pew and looking to the roof of the chapel, which seemed to be painted in a scene that depicted Lord Solar Macharius on his holy crusade. “I know I have to be in shape to be a battle sister but I just want to know how long that's going to take.”

“Couldn't tell you really,” Druga said.

“Well how long did it take you?” Roslyn asked.

Druga shrugged. “I've been doing this all my life. Trained from childhood. Never was a period I strayed behind.”

“All your life?” Roslyn asked.

“I'm an orphan,” Druga said. “Most sisters here are. Parents died when I was four. Grew up in a convent. Been training since then.”

“Oh,” Roslyn said. She thought back to Jane, Yara and Catherine. They were each orphans, yet their upbringing would surely be different than that of Druga's. “How did they die? If you don't mind me asking?”

“I don't know,” Druga said. “I've never asked.”

“Wouldn't you want to know?” Roslyn said.

“Not really,” Druga responded casually.

Suddenly the Sister Superior at the front spoke. She was tall, and had slender features. “Sisters,” she said. “We are gathered here today for morning prayer. Please pick up your texts, today we'll be starting with The Benediction of the Faithful.”

The prayers were all standard and familiar to Roslyn, and she practically sleep walked through the recitals. Then the Sister Superior recited a prayer not all that different from the one Roslyn had done the previous night.

All things considered the whole affair was utterly unmemorable. Once it was over Roslyn stood to make her way to lunch.

Augusta was waiting for her by the chapel door.

“Sister Roslyn,” she said. “Can I have a word?”

Her heart dropped, and Roslyn began to wonder what trouble she had gotten herself into now.

“Yes Sister Superior?” Roslyn said flatly.

“A couple of sisters have mentioned you had trouble with Deacon Trietta last night.”

Roslyn didn't say anything and looked to the floor. She had already made a bad first impression to Deacon Trietta, and didn't want to make things worse.

Augusta sighed. “Look, the priesthood on this ship aren't supposed to be disciplining battle sisters. That's our responsibility, but I can't call them out for overstepping their jurisdiction if nobody says anything.”

Roslyn looked up at her.

“What happened?” she asked. “In your own words.”

Despite still not really knowing where she stood with Augusta, Roslyn felt comfortable talking to her at least, so she decided to explain.

“My first night here, somebody had left three holy candles burning atop my lockbox.” she said softly. “I was so tired and disoriented I barely thought of it and just brushed them aside. By morning I'd completely forgotten about it.”

“Any idea which sister had done that?” Augusta asked.

Roslyn considered pointing the finger at Synthecia. She was the most likely culprit after all, but as much as she disliked Synthecia, she couldn't say for sure.

“I don't know,” Roslyn said.

“Okay, so Deacon Trietta came across the candles last night?” said Augusta, moving the story along.

Roslyn nodded. “She didn't introduce herself, so I didn't know who she was. I assumed she was a sister from another unit and addressed her as such. She struck me.”

Augusta nodded, putting a hand to Roslyn's chin and tilting her head to see if there was a bruise. “Fragging Ministorium!” she spat under her breath.

“She didn't know I was new,” Roslyn said, trying not to start a situation. “She had no way of knowing.”

“She went in there to cause trouble,” Augusta said. “If she had a problem she should have mentioned it to me or another Sister Superior.”

Roslyn didn't say anything further, and Augusta took her hand away.

“But you were right not to push back,” Augusta said, looking off to the side. “Deacon Trietta is still a member of the Ecclesiarchy as are we all, and is due your deference.” She then pointed a finger at Roslyn's face. “But if she comes around trying to dole out punishments again you come to me, alright?”

“Yes Sister Superior,” Roslyn said, and silently hoped she would never be put in a situation where she would have to make that call.

****

Roslyn ran her spoon through the grey, gritty slop.

“What is this?” she said, to nobody in particular.

“It's protein paste,” said Sister Marie sitting opposite her.

“I know what it's called,” Roslyn replied. “But what actually is it? What's it made from?”

“It's paste and it's got a lot of protein in it,” Synthecia said dismissively. “Golden Throne, new meat, who the frak cares?”

Roslyn ignored her. “Well don't you wonder where it comes from? What goes into it? You're eating it after all, doesn't that bother you?”

Sister Marie shrugged.

“On Carnford,” Roslyn said, “We knew where all our food came from. From crop to plate, we knew where it had come from and where it had been every step of the way.”

“Oooohh,” Synthecia said mockingly. “On Carnford I bet you knew where the waste disposal went every step of the way too.”

The sisters at the table all laughed. Roslyn looked down at her plate. It was looking less than appetising.

“I just thought it was worth asking,” she said. “That's all.”

“I think it's worth you shutting your mouth and never talking again,” said Synthecia.

Roslyn turned to look at Marie and Druga, hoping to see them show some objection to Synthecia's behaviour, but instead they carried on eating their food.

Roslyn felt alone all over again. She put her head down.

“Yeah,” said Synthecia, leaning forward as Senna grinned next to her. “No smart come backs now right?”

“I'm sorry,” Roslyn said, seeing no sense in being proud. “I didn't mean what I said at the firing range yesterday.”

Synthecia threw her tray at Roslyn. It landed wide of the mark, hitting the table and causing a helping of the slop to fly up and hit her in the face and splatter across her vestments. One of the senior sisters from the other side of the room stood to see what the commotion was about, but they did not intervene.

“I'm not hungry,” Synthecia said. “You can have the rest, since you seem so interested in it.” She then nodded to Senna, and the two of them stood and made to leave.

Roslyn started to wipe the sludge off her face, and felt the onset of tears again. She had hoped that some of the sisters would offer to help her, but none did.

“Oh,” Synthecia said, before she was out the door. “And by the way Sister Roslyn, I believe you. I just don't give a drak.”

Roslyn stood up and walked over to the side of the mess hall, where there was a raggedy looking towel. She picked it up, and began to wipe the slop off her vestments. At the very least the protein paste did not stain.

“Hey,” said a voice from behind her.

Roslyn turned and saw that it was Sister Chalice. She was hunched over, and looked as sickly and worn out as she did the previous day. In fact she may have looked worse.

“Hello Sister Chalice,” Roslyn greeted her.

“I jussst wanted you to know,” Chalice muttered. “That wasn't a very nice thing to do to you.”

Roslyn smiled. She could take heart that at least one person cared about how she felt. Then she glanced back over at her squad's table, and noticed that the sisters were watching the two of them attentively.

“Thank you,” Roslyn sighed. “I honestly don't know why she hates me so much.”

“Ahhhhh Syn is like that to everyone,” Chalice said. “Sh-she gave me a black eye once c.. cause I joked that I could steal Senna from her.”

Roslyn raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

“Point is you shouldn't let it get to you,” Chalice said, as her sunken eyes seemed to wander toward nothing in particular. “Day'll come you'll forget she ever did those things to you.”

Roslyn wiped her eyes to make sure there were no lingering tears, and then for some reason her voice began to tremble. “I just can't see that far ahead right now,” she said. “Everything just seems to be going wrong.”

“Two dayssss Sister Roslyn,” Chalice said. “No time at all.”

Roslyn nodded.

“Buttt, if you're struggling,” Chalice said. “You maybe want to see Brother Meany.”

Roslyn paused for a moment, and a face flicked into her mind. She realised that Friedrich had been the last man she had set eyes on. She had expected she may never see another man again, and now she was hearing there was one on the ship.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Who is Brother Meany?”

“He's a confessor here,” she said. “He's there to listen to sister's sins, but he'll talk about pretty much anything if you want to. I go see him all the time since...” Chalice paused and sighed. “I dooon't get to talk to sisters so much these days.”

Roslyn nodded. “I uh,” she paused. “I heard the priesthood don't get along with the sisters that much.”

Chalice didn't say anything at first, and Roslyn wondered if she maybe should not have brought it up, but soon Chalice ran a hand through her short straggly hair. “No,” she said. “Theyyy can be some real straight edges on this ship. But Brother Meany is alright. Trust me.”

Roslyn nodded, and glanced back at her squad's table. They were still watching the two of them talk with suspicion. She wondered how she was supposed to play it. She was in dire need of friends, and for the most part the sisters on the The Victorium viewed Sister Chalice negatively. Getting too close to the sister could jeopardise her prospects on fitting in.

Then again, Chalice was the only sister to show any real sense of concern for Roslyn, outside of Augusta's hot and cold approach. Chalice might be her only real shot of friendship.

Roslyn took Chalice by the hand and held it with both of her own.

“Thank you Sister Chalice,” she said honestly. “I really appreciate the help you've given me the last couple days.”

Chalice blushed a bright red. She smiled and looked away. “Oh, uh ho hoo,” she laughed nervously. “Welll you knowww. Ssss only the right thing to do you know? The Emperor rewards the just and all.”

“Well,” Roslyn said. “I hope he's watching over you.”

Chalices smile suddenly dropped and she glanced to the floor. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I'd hope so too.”

****

Weapons training was mostly uneventful, with Sister Ironheart going over with Roslyn what they had discussed the previous day. Roslyn's aim hadn't got much better, and she was still struggling to come to terms with the noise and the recoil.

All through it she was expecting Synthecia to throw some barbed remark at her, but the sister kept her mouth shut. It seemed as though her chastisement by Ironheart had kept her muted somewhat.

Back out of the power armour, and her muscles still aching from the morning run, Roslyn had about an hour to herself before the evening meal, so she decided to take Chalice's advice and seek out Brother Meany.

Wandering the corridors aimlessly, Roslyn struggled to find her way. Every wall appeared to be the same gun metal grey draped with banners of the Adepta Sororitas. Occasionally she would pass a pedestal displaying burning candles, which to Roslyn seemed to be a mocking reminder of the previous night's mess.

Eventually she came across Engineseer Callisa again. They seemed to be fiddling with an air filtration unit. It was Callisa who saw Roslyn first.

“Sister Roslyn,” they said in a recognisable monotone. “We meet again. Allow me to speculate on your circumstance. You require direction?”

Roslyn smiled and nodded. “I just can't seem to get my head around this ship,” she said.

“Here,” said Callisa, as a snake like metal tendril extended from underneath the crimson robes. Roslyn wanted to recline in horror, until she realise this would be incredibly rude to the Tech-priest. Instead she just felt her muscles tighten.

“I know you Sisters are supposed to forgo all possessions,” Callisa's monotone voice continued. “But this may be of some help.”

Roslyn realised that at the end of the tendril was a small device. She recognised it instantly. It was a data-slate. They were used all the time on Carnford for categorising and logging stockpiles and storage.

“The slate holds schematics for the entire ship. It should work as a serviceable map.”

“Thank you,” said Roslyn as she eagerly scanned through the info held on the device.

“It also has a little music on there,” Callisa said.

Roslyn looked back at the Engineseer in surprise.

“What?” Callisa barked. “I may look like a machine, but I am not one entirely.”

Roslyn nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Run along now,” Callisa said, the tendril making a brushing motions as if it was shooing away a rodent. “Omnissiah go with you.”

****

The air hung heavy in the Priesthood's wing of the ship. On the surface the corridors didn't appear all that different, but the thin fog of incense was undeniable, and Roslyn found herself coughing more than once.

The priests were all dressed in a uniform grey, but their attire varied wildly. Some wore simple robes, others wore much more impressive vestments decorated with symbols of their station.

Roslyn kept her head down, and most of them paid her no mind. According to the map on the data-slate Brother Meany saw to confessions in the wing's own chapel. Roslyn found herself wondering if the Priesthood always had a dedicated chapel, or if they had seen to setting up one of their own only in the wake of the Cardinal's death.

The chapel itself was much smaller than that of the Sisters. It was arched above and carved out of a white rock instead of the grey stone Roslyn had grown used to. It gave the space a warmer feeling, and this became a comfort to her as she walked towards the confession boxes that had been assembled out of wood. They reminded Roslyn of the mostly wooden convent she had grown up in.

She entered the box, and sat down on the cushioned seat. Despite the fact that she had seen to many confessions herself over the years, she was unsure how to begin.

“Emperor bless your presence Sister,” a man's voice spoke from the other side of a wire mesh. She couldn't make out the man's features, but he appeared to have a large rectangular shaped head.

“Emperor bless yours Brother,” she replied.

The man paused for a moment, surprised at the response. “Thank you for saying so Sister,” he said. “What is it that you are wishing to say in the Emperor's confidence?”

Roslyn wanted to spill out the entire story, of her despair at leaving her home, her embarrassment in the showers, her struggles with her commander's expectations and her tangle with the Deacon. However, she knew not how the brother would interpret these events, and speaking of such things as Senna and Synthecia's relationship, or Chalice's addictions, could have far reaching and terrible consequences for her place in the Order.

Instead, she decided to start simply. “I'm Sister Roslyn,” she said. “I'm the new arrival from Carnford.”

“Ah yes,” the brother said. “And how are you finding The Order of the Weeping Martyr Sister Roslyn?”

She swallowed, her throat still dry from the incense in the air. “Well, I've been doing a lot of weeping myself.”

The brother did not answer.

“I knew when I took my vows that I would be expected to give my life to The Emperor,” she said. “In whatever form that would take, but I was never trained for this kind of life. Never prepared for it.”

“The Emperor always sees fit to challenge his faithful,” Brother Meany said. “It is up to us to prove we are worthy of his faith.”

“I know,” Sister Roslyn said. “It's just that nobody here seems to be showing any faith in me. I mean, my Sister Superior has tried to keep my spirits up, most of my peers don't seem to give a damn about me, and I can't help but feel...”

Roslyn stopped then, scared that by putting her worst fears into words it would make them come true.

“Sister?” Brother Meany asked.

Roslyn put a hand to her mouth and coughed, as she felt tears begin to spring to her eyes. She then heard a sliding sound, and upon looking to the source, saw that Brother Meany had removed the wire mesh that concealed him from view.

The Confessor was old. That much was obvious from the lines across his heavy face. In spite of that though, his small eyes gave hint to a sympathetic expression. His round nose and jowls betrayed a laid back attitude. There was a friendliness and openness to his appearance.

“Tell me Sister Roslyn,” he said. “What is it that troubles you?”

Sniffing back the tears, she spoke. “I can't help but feel that the moment I am asked to do my duty then I'll be less than useless. I know the first time I see combat it will also be my last.”

She looked down the floor ashamed, but it was the truth. For all that Roslyn felt she could fit in with the sisters, given time, she could not imagine a future where her status as a Battle Sister would ever be justified.

“I understand Sister,” Brother Meany said. “I think you'll find many on this ship do.”

Roslyn wiped the tears from his eyes, but she couldn't help but feel that his words rang hollow.

Seemingly sensing this, Brother Meany continued. “I'm sure you're thinking I say this to all the sisters. That every fresh recruit needs to be told they're no different than every one else. Well, you see Sister, that isn't it at all.”

Roslyn looked up at him.

“Would you like to hear about the first time I saw combat?” he said.

She didn't answer.

“I've never told anyone the story before,” he said, with a sly smile.

Roslyn sniffed, and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “But before I continue, I'll need you to promise that whatever we discuss in this confessional, stays in this confessional.”

Roslyn swallowed again.

“Do you promise not to breath a word of this?” Brother Meany asked.

“I promise,” she said nervously.

“Alright,” he said. “It was many years ago now. I was a young missionary. I'd travelled to the furtherest reaches of the segmentum. Went to a primitive world to spread the Emperor's word, and hopefully, make a name for myself along the way. I was ambitious then, and arrogant.”

Roslyn watched as the Confessor's eyes twitched. They seemed to be looking for shadows that weren't there, not unlike Chalice's.

“Like you, I thought my duty to The Emperor would be nothing but preaching and ceremony. Do his work through words. That the only sacrifice would be time.”

Roslyn told herself she had never seen her duties in that way, but then began to wonder if that was true at all.

“Well, a few years in and the locals come to me. They're talking about strange things going on in the nearby ruins. I dismiss it as superstition,” he laughed. “Hearsay. But the locals insist. So, I pick up the ceremonial warhammer, one I had been gifted after I had taken my vows, and I told them that we would go to the ruins, and the Emperor's light would surely exorcize any evil that made it's home there.”

Roslyn watched Brother Meany as he told the story, his voice was beginning to tremble, and his eyes were flitting about even more excitedly. She found herself shaking, and put one hand on top of the other to stop it.

“When we got to the ruins I saw it was no superstition. Strange, silver skinned creatures were making their home there. They fired green flame from strange weapons that would flay a man's flesh from his bones. The local weapons barely scratched them, and my warhammer did even less. In the end, we had to flee the settlement, but by then it was too late. The creatures had awakened more of their kind, and pursued us relentlessly.”

Roslyn swallowed again, her throat still dry, as she pictured the events in her minds eye. If Brother Meany's story was supposed to make her feel better, it was doing quite the opposite.

“I spent months keeping as many of the villagers safe as I could. We moved from place to place almost daily, making our hiding places in jungles or deep caverns. It was gruelling work. At first I thought we would see no end to it, as more and more succumbed to the green flame.”

He sighed, but then his mouth twitched, and a sly smile came from it.

“But eventually, I realised that the Emperor had put me there for a reason. That somebody had to keep the people there alive and that person was me. Months passed, nearly a year I think, and then the Black Ships of the Inquisition finally arrived to put the threat down.”

Roslyn was following the story attentively, and found herself leaning forward, like an eager child. At the mention of the Inquisition she had shivered. She had heard about the Emperor's bulwark against heresy. They were dedicated, powerful, and merciless. Despite their heroic depictions in the texts, Roslyn had always found something unsettling about the way the organisation was described.

As she listened, she soon found her gut reaction was warranted.

“I saw this first as deliverance, but as we made our way to rescue, we came across a group of survivors,” Brother Meany continued. His smile dropped and his voice became a chilling whisper. “They were tired, bloody and brutalised, and they were running from our own people.”

Roslyn's eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

“In this moment I knew why. We had seen things Imperial citizens were never meant to see. Witnessed heresy the wider galaxy was never meant to know. By surviving we had become a greater danger to our fellow citizens than heretics themselves.”

“So,” Roslyn said, also speaking at a whisper. “What did you do?”

“I told the locals to flee, to go back to one of our hiding places and wait it out. I would go to the Inquisitor, and I would tell him that I was the sole survivor, that I saw nobody else. I concluded that if they executed me for my knowledge, then their survival would be assured. I would walk to my death happily to save those under my watch.

“When I met with the Inquisitor he believed my story, and was content that I was the only survivor who knew of the strange metal monsters and their green death. However, instead of executing me, he offered me a place in his retinue, impressed with how I had alone survived.”

Roslyn had become so wrapped up in the story that she hadn't realised that her fingers were digging into the flesh of her legs. “So... how did you end up here?”

“I travelled with the Inquisitor for many years, and I saw untold cruelty and horror, committed by both our enemies, and the Imperium's own forces. It's a story for another time, but one mission too many our shuttle's engine failed, and the Inquisitor died in a crash. After that I was allowed to go my own way, and so I applied to an attachment to the Adepta Sororitas, and here I am.”

Roslyn suddenly felt the pain increase, and she looked down to see blood staining her vestments, she quickly relaxed her grip, and patted the scratches softly.

She then stared back at Brother Meany. His story had been far from comforting.

“Well don't you see?” Brother Meany said, sensing her doubts. “I was hoping for an easy life, just like you, but instead I went through unexpected horrors, had to put my life on the line, had to lie and live with misleading some of the Emperor's chosen, but live I did. I know one day I'll have to stand in front of The Emperor and justify what I've done. Yet until that day comes, I'm still here.”

Brother Meany leaned through the gap where he had taken down the mesh and with an extended finger he prodded at Roslyn's chest.

“You only need to have faith Sister Roslyn, and you'll live through your hardships too.”

****

The rest of the day proceeded without incident, save Roslyn failing to strike up a conversation with any of her fellow sisters over dinner. Once she had decided to retire to her bunk, she was irritated to find another pile of holy candles burning on her lockbox.

She heard Synthecia laughing on the other side of the room.

Roslyn gritted her teeth, and carefully lifted the melting candles from her lockbox and made her way across.

“No, seriously,” Synthecia was saying to a group of other sisters around her bunk. “Three days it took me to figure that out.”

Roslyn interrupted their conversation by dumping the candles down onto Synthecia's own lockbox. She dropped the conversation immediately and got to her feet, squaring up to Roslyn instantly.

“What the frag are you doing new meat?”

“I'm giving you back what's yours,” Roslyn said, voice trembling, and trying not to cry. “I know it was you who's been putting them on my lockbox.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Synthecia said aggressively.

“Oh come on!” Roslyn shouted. “Who else would it have been?”

“I don't know, but you were staring me up in the shower the last time it happened so explain that new meat.”

Roslyn thought about it and realised Synthecia was right. The candles first appeared on her lockbox when she had showered after her arrival. She hadn't even got into conflict with Synthecia then, and even if she had, Synthecia had been in the shower the whole time.

Without saying anything Roslyn bent down and picked up the candles and walked away to dispose of them. She didn't see any purpose on continuing the argument.

“That's right, get the frag out of here new meat” Synthecia shouted back at her. “Don't stick your nose where it don't belong.”

Roslyn retired to bed after that. With no sisters voicing their support, she cried herself to sleep once again.


	7. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Seven

By Jack Harvey

Roslyn woke on the third morning feeling numb towards the day's affairs. Having fully resigned herself to the knowledge that every day would be another set of fresh ordeals she rose, stony faced, and got dressed.

Upon arriving at the cargo bay for morning exercise she was surprised to see that the sisters were not lined up to attention but instead gathered together in a huddle around Sister Augusta.

She squeezed her way in.

“Ah,” said Augusta. “Sister Roslyn. Being new here you probably didn't realise that the third day of rotation is always close combat training rather than athletics. We usually begin by discussing what each of us would like to focus on and who we would like to go up against.”

Roslyn swallowed, and stared at the other sisters. Synthecia was grinning. Roslyn had to wonder if she would ever be delivered from the woman's cruelty.

“Since you're new and you probably don't have a lot of experience with this, you'll be sparring with me. I'll be bringing you up to speed as best I can.”

Roslyn breathed a sigh of relief, and the group separated into twos. As they did, she could see some of them begin practising complex moves, some even throwing each other over themselves. Roslyn couldn't conceive she'd ever be able to do something like that.

“Alright,” said Augusta, smiling. “Now I know you probably think that most of the time we'll be using ranged weapons, but a sister needs to know how to fight toe-to-toe too.”

She held up her fists in front of her face, and Roslyn nervously followed suit.

“Even without a weapon, our power armour can pack quite a punch,” Augusta said, swaying from side to side. “And if your back is against the wall, you're going to need to know how to throw one.”

Roslyn stared at a couple of sisters. One was throwing her fists frantically, while the other blocked effortlessly.

“Come on,” Augusta said. “No need to go for my face. Just throw me a punch and I'll block it. Show me what you have.”

Roslyn sighed. She'd never been in a fight in her entire life, and she'd only ever seen one or two, when some of the older men would drink too much grain cider on Harvest's Eve and get into arguments. She didn't even know where to start.

But Augusta was waiting. “Come on,” she pressed.

As best she could Roslyn threw a fist forward. It flailed in Augusta's general direction and she easily blocked it. The impact of fist on fist ran up Roslyn's arm in a jolt of pain, and she quickly pulled her arm away and shook it to get the feeling back.

Augusta's smile hadn't left her face. “Would you believe me if I told you that was terrible?”

Roslyn remained stony faced and just glared at her.

“Alright,” Augusta said. “I can see where you're going wrong. It's the same mistake everyone makes. Your fist isn't a projectile. You can't just throw it like a rock. It's part of your entire arm, and you need to use it. Think of it more like a wrecking ball.”

Roslyn nodded and looked down at her still numb hand.

“You uh... have wrecking balls on Carnford?” Augusta said.

“Yes we have wrecking balls on Carnford!” Roslyn shot, perhaps a little sharper than she should have at the Sister Superior.

“Okay,” Augusta said, showing no sign of offence. “ Hold your hands up, and now watch me. I use the full force of my arm to reinforce the punch. It's all one single motion.”

Roslyn held up her hands and watched as Augusta demonstrated, she showed how she pulled the fist back, aimed, lunged forward, and turned the fist in synchronisation with the lunge. She barely had a chance to block, and when the punch collided with her fist it hurt ten times that of the previous hit. Roslyn shook her hand and rubbed it carefully, but she did not complain.

“I think we're going to need to talk a bit about blocking too,” Augusta said.

Over the next hour or so Augusta explained to Roslyn the finer points of throwing a punch and blocking one in a safe environment. She talked Roslyn through it every step of the way, to the point where she was beginning to understand. Before long they were sparring uninterrupted, though Roslyn could tell Augusta was going easy on her.

Either way, she was ready to get morning exercise over with and move on to the rest of the day.

“Well,” said Augusta. “I think you might just be starting to get the hang of it. However, combat is all about adapting and improvisation. Time to see how you do against another opponent.”

Roslyn's heart dropped. She had hoped to get away with a morning of simple instruction with Augusta, and now she was being asked to go up against another sister in combat. Despite Brother Meany's encouragement the previous day, she had no confidence that it would go well.

“Alright,” Augusta called. “Sister Synthecia. If you will?”

When Roslyn heard the name her heart dropped even further than it already had. Of all the sisters Augusta had to pick she chose the one that had it out for her. Roslyn felt as though she had just become a sacrificial gift served up on an alter to some dark god.

Synthecia hopped up excitedly into the circle that had formed around them. She grinned. “Oh I've been looking forward to this Sister Roslyn.”

Roslyn turned to Augusta. “Sister Superior I hardly think this is necessary at this stage in my training.”

“Have you ever heard of the phrase 'sink or swim' Sister Roslyn?” Augusta asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Good, if you understand the concept then you're ready,” Augusta said, beckoning her towards Synthecia. “Just remember what I taught you. You can't go wrong.”

Nervously, Roslyn stepped into the circle. Synthecia was on her toes, hopping from side to side, fists held up defensively. She looked ready for anything. Roslyn didn't know where to start, or even how she would overcome such a foe.

The sisters around her started cheering in a bustle. It reminded Roslyn of the old farmers on Carnford when they would put captured crop vermin in a barrel of water and bet on which would survive.

“Remember Sister Roslyn,” Augusta called. “Keep your fists tight when blocking, and watch the direction your opponent moves in.

Roslyn did so, and carefully studied Synthecia's movements. While she knew throwing a punch was pointless, she figured that if she could block Synthecia's swings the sister would grow tired and give up.

She watched her opponent's fists. Synchetica lunged, and before Roslyn could even respond the fist hit her square in the middle of her face.

Feeling as though a bomb had gone off inside her skull, Roslyn reeled back and fell to the floor. She didn't even hear the other sisters cheering over the ringing in her ears.

****

The other sisters had all cleared away when she had regained her composure, and Augusta offered Roslyn a rag of fabric to hold against her nose as the blood came streaming out.

They sat in silence a few moments. Augusta still had a half smile on her face.

“Do you know what I'm going to ask?” Augusta said.

Roslyn looked at her. Then looked away. Then she looked back, a cross expression on her face.

“You're going to ask if I know why you put me up against Sister Synthecia,” Roslyn said through a bloody and bunged up nose.

“And do you?” Augusta replied.

Roslyn answered immediately. “Because I did something to deserve it,” she said, “I must have done.”

“No you didn't,” Augusta said. “You didn't deserve that.”

Roslyn sighed, and felt as though she was going to cry. “Then why?”

Augusta stared across the cargo bay. Automated loaders were moving enormous crates of who knows what from one side to the other. “Because Synthecia has had it in for you since you got here and now it's out of her system. She's had her little win, and come tomorrow she'll have moved on to some other kind of drama.”

Roslyn looked at the bloody rag. That seemed scant compensation for her throbbing nose.

“Would you rather have had her tormenting you for weeks and weeks?” Augusta asked.

Roslyn didn't answer.

Augusta sighed. “Look Sister Roslyn, I like you. I think you're going to be one hell of a Battle Sister some day, and I don't want to see you moping and bawling for weeks and months when I know that's in you.” She seemed to be speaking more to herself than Roslyn. “I know it's hard right now. Of course it is. You were never prepared for any of it, but the harder it is now, the sooner it'll get easier.”

Roslyn nodded, but she still couldn't see what Augusta saw.

“Well,” said Augusta, realising there was little more to say. “Better hit the showers. Go see the Hospitaller about your nose. She'll sort you out in no time, and you'll be ready to get back at it.”

Roslyn watched Augusta as she slowly walked away. She still didn't know what to think about her Sister Superior. On the one hand Augusta clearly thought she had Roslyn's back, and was doing her a favour, but on the other hand her methods had so far left Roslyn feeling exhausted, victimised and literally in incredible pain.

She sighed, and got to her feet. “Back at it indeed,” she said to herself.

****

Roslyn's trip to see Brunhilde was relatively swift. The Hospitaller took a quick look to make sure that nothing was broken, then pointed Roslyn in the direction of the drugs cabinet.

Roslyn was unsure what she was looking for. Most of Carnford's medicines were stored in antiquated jars and bottles, while on the Victorium the sisters seemed to prefer prefabricated boxes.

She picked out a packet of blue tubes.

“Not those,” Brunhilde said urgently as her hand clasped around Roslyn tightly.

“I'm sorry,” Roslyn squeaked.

Brunhilde shook her head and took the packet out of Roslyn's hand. “It's Callisa that should be apologising. Their servitors keep misfiling combat drugs with the common medicines.”

She held up and shook the plastic packet.

“Combat stimms,” she said. “For dire situations only. They're as likely to kill you as they are to keep you alive.”

“No good for a nosebleed then?” Roslyn asked.

“Not at all,” Brunhilde laughed, then lifted out a small cardboard box. “These should suit you better.”

****

After a swift walk to rejoin the others Roslyn's nose showed no further sign of any mistreatment, however it still throbbed with pain as she waited for the painkillers to kick in. The other sisters were tight lipped around Roslyn, and of Synthecia and Senna there was no sign.

The sisters were silent still once lunch time had come round, and nobody seemed to want to talk, not even to take their mind off the tasteless gritty slop of the protein paste.

Eventually it was Sister Marie who spoke. “So, uh, Sister Roslyn. How's your nose?”

Roslyn glared at Marie before answering. “It hurts.”

“Well,” butted in Sister Druga suddenly more talkative now that Marie had broke the tension. “I think you took the punch well, all things considering.”

“Considering what?” asked Marie, clearly disapproving of Druga's tone.

“Well,” shrugged Druga. “She's never been punched in the face before has she?”

Roslyn turned to Druga. “Have you?” she asked.

“Pffft, more times than I can count,” she said dismissively. “I told you I've been a sister since I was a child. I've been punching my way out of problems ever since.”

Roslyn glanced back at Marie. “What about you?”

The sister looked up into the air, chewing protein paste as she did. “Uh, three times I think,” her eyes rolled back in thought. “Let's see, there was the time Sister Solone snatched my last zita bread, that was back when we had zita bread.” Marie glanced down at the paste with a sad look on her face. “I miss those days.”

Roslyn looked down at the slop herself, and wondered if she would ever see a day where she would eat anything else.

“Then there was the time Sister Theresa thought it would be funny to spread a rumour that I was half Ogryn, so I spread a rumour that she was a mutant.” Marie paused then. “Okay, so I probably had that one coming.”

However, Roslyn had stopped listening, and her mind had moved on to another subject. “Where are we going?” she asked.

The sisters paused, waiting to see if she would elaborate on her question.

“What, you, uh, mean in a philosophical sense?” Druga asked.

“No,” Roslyn said. “I mean, where is this ship going to? Where is it taking us?” It had dawned on her that she had been on The Victorium for three days and hadn't even thought to question the purpose of the ship's journey.

“We're reuniting with the fleet,” Marie said.

“What fleet?” Roslyn asked.

Marie giggled. “The Order of the Weeping Martyr's fleet of course.”

“The order has a fleet?” Roslyn asked, surprised.

“What? Did you think it was just this ship?” Druga asked, a smile on her face.

Roslyn looked to the floor. “Yes actually,” she said, expecting humiliation.

Instead Marie started talking excitedly. “Oh Golden Throne no. This is just a transport ship. It's nothing compared to the Sigmund's Blade. That's the Canonesses flagship.” The sister's face was animated, and her smile grew wider as she spoke frantically. “Just wait until you see the main hall. It's where she performs all her ceremonies, and it can practically seat the entire order.”

Roslyn couldn't help but smile at the girl's enthusiasm.

“I mean, you could probably fit this entire ship inside the hall. It's huge. The statues alone are three times the size of the cargo bay, and they're carved entirely out of marble that supposedly came from Terra itself.”

“That can't be true,” Druga said.

Marie glanced at her. “Well who cares if it's true, the fact that they say it might be is impressive enough.” She turned back to Roslyn and sighed. “Oh I just can't wait for you to see it.”

“Hey,” Druga said, having drifted away from the conversation. “Where are Sister Synthecia and Sister Senna anyway?”

She turned to the sister sitting next to her, who was a pale woman with long jet black hair. “Sister Hornigold,” Druga said. “Where did Syn and Sen go?”

“Where do you think they went?” the sister said, trying to scoop out the crusty remains of her protein paste from the corners of her tray.

“Look,” said Druga. “I know they like their alone time, but skipping lunch entirely? After morning exercise? It's not like them.”

“Hey,” came a shout from one table across.

Roslyn and Druga turned. Sister Touro was leaning over from her own squad's table.

“You looking for the terrible twosome?” she said.

Roslyn couldn't help but smile at her expression.

“Yeah,” said Druga. “You seen them?”

“Passed them on the way here,” Touro said. “For some reason they were heading back to the cargo bay. Don't know why but Senna was looking hella' furious.”

Roslyn's smile dropped. She had to wonder if she had anything to do with it.

“Okay,” said Druga. “Thanks Touro.” The leaned back onto the table.

“Well,” said Marie with a smile. “Mystery solved.”

“Mystery not solved,” Druga shot back. “Mystery is only just beginning.”

“Sister Druga leave them be,” Marie said. “You know they don't like it when people try to poke at their affairs. Let them cool off in their own way.”

Druga, frustrated, shoved a spoonful of slop into her mouth. “Yeah. Okay.”

No sister spoke further for the remainder of lunch.

****

“So,” said Roslyn under her breath. “Directly lying to and misleading an Inquisitor. Would that not, uh, not be considered grounds for heresy?”

Brother Meany pulled a face. He seemed unconcerned by the question. “I suppose it depends on where you stand.”

Roslyn had returned to the confessional to talk further with the confessor. His story from their last meeting had fascinated her, and revealed an Imperium with more complex and contradictory power structures that she had previously thought possible. She had more questions, and hoped he would give more answers.

“Look at it this way,” Brother Meany said. “I had vowed to honour the hierarchy of the Imperial church, and an Inquisitor far, far outranked the simple missionary that I was at the time. However, as an Imperial priest, subjects of the imperium were to defer their judgement to me. I was an authority figure to them, as I imagine, I am to you.”

Roslyn hadn't really thought of it that way. While Deacon Trietta seemed to be under the impression she could boss Roslyn around, Brother Meany had made no suggestion he planned to do the same.

“The way I saw it, if, as a symbol of authority such as myself could make mistakes. If I could fall prey to pride and arrogance, could the same not be said of our Cardinals, Canonesses and Inquisitors?”

“Well,” said Roslyn unsure. “I would say it is not upon us to judge our superiors and trust that the Emperor is showing them the way.”

Brother Meany chuckled. “It's a nice sentiment in theory, but hardly in practice.” He leaned through the gap between the two of them. “Do you know who most of the heretics were, that we hunted during my time in the Inquisition? The traitors? The blasphemers?”

Roslyn shook her head.

“Other Inquisitors.”

“What?” Roslyn said, almost louder than she had expected.

“I told you this story was going to be wild,” Brother Meany said, chuckling again. “But it's true, and half the time these other Inquisitor's were calling us the heretics. It was a real mess, those years of my life, but I think it shows you how the Imperium isn't as black and white as it seems.”

“But if we can't truly know who is acting in the name of the Emperor, and who is not, then how can we sensibly go carrying out his work?” Roslyn asked.

“Well some would tell you to just follow orders. Don't doubt your superiors and you can't be held accountable for your actions.” Brother Meany shrugged. “I say the Emperor gave us brains for a reason.” He turned away from her then, and glanced at the wooden wall of the confessional. “There will be times in your career, Sister Roslyn, where your superior will be asking you to do one thing, and your brain will be telling you to do something else. When that happens, all we can hope for is that The Emperor shows us the way.”

“That's a very different attitude than one expressed by the scriptures,” Roslyn said.

“Indeed,” Brother Meany said. “And it's up to you, Sister Roslyn, and only you, to decide whether to heed my own words, or ignore them.”

Before Roslyn could question him further there was a knock at the door.

“Ah, and it appears that's all we have time for,” he said jovially. “The Emperor Protects, Sister Roslyn.”

“The Emperor Protects,” she replied.

The two of them then exited their respective sides of the confessional, and Roslyn could see who it was who had knocked on the door.

“Sister,” Deacon Trietta said in the iciest of tones.

“Excuse me, your grace,” Roslyn said, as she quickly made her way to the entrance of the chapel.

****

There was still no sign of Synthecia or Senna by the time weapons practice had come around. When Roslyn had asked Sister Ironheart of their whereabouts in between the tossing of grenades the sister seemed unconcerned.

“If those girls want to skimp on weapons training then it's on them,” she said. “Not my problem if their aim gets rusty.”

“But,” said Roslyn, trying to fit the thick finger of a power armour gauntlet into the ring of a frag grenade. “It's insubordination isn't it? Won't they be disciplined?” Roslyn felt aghast at the lack of concern given the punishment she had revived for, so far, minor infractions.

“Well, that's up to her Sister Superior,” Ironheart said. “Augusta will be able to see I haven't checked her in on the roster. She can discipline them, or not. I'm only here to make sure that the sisters that do turn up are trained to the best of my ability.”

Eventually Roslyn's finger popped into the ring, and she tugged it out of the cylindrical explosive. Quickly, she raised her arm, and the grenade tumbled towards it's target, before it bounced off and flew wide, erupting with a bang in mid air.

Roslyn felt the explosion blow ripples in her hair.

“Well,” Ironheart said. “At least the target might have got a bump on the head.”

“I'm sorry, Sister Ironheart,” Roslyn said, embarrassed.

“Don't be,” Ironheart said, the big sister looking down at Roslyn. “Grenade training is one of the hardest parts to get right. It's just a matter of practice and learning the weight and momentum over time.” She then led Roslyn over to the familiar weapons table. “Alright then, time to take a look at one of these bad girls.”

Ironheart picked up a device from the table. It was a grenade, that much was clear, but it was much larger than the green fragmentation grenades Roslyn had been practising with. It was oval shaped, with seams running around it's circumference, and was painted bright red.

“Krak grenades,” she said. “One guess at what they do?”

Roslyn looked at the thing. “They crack stuff?”

Ironheart laughed and nodded. “Sometimes the Imperium is direct and to the point. Specifically, they crack armour open. This what you'll use to take down armoured vehicles if a Retributor squad isn't at hand.”

As Roslyn was led back to the range she shivered. Combat was a scary enough prospect, but the idea that she would be expected to face up against an armoured vehicle was even more unthinkable.

Ironheart pressed a button on the console and a large wooden silhouette of some form of attack vehicle popped up.

“Now,” Ironheart said, handing her the Krak grenade. “These things have a shorter blast radius than frag grenades, so if you really want to be sure it's going to do its job, you'll want to get up close and attach it to the vehicle itself, but those opportunities rarely present themselves. So, you're most likely going to need to get in a good, well timed throw.”

Roslyn looked at the large grenade, and once again began struggling to slide her finger into the pin.

“Yeah, they're fussy drekers,” she said. “Took me best part of a year to get the hang of it.”

Roslyn hoped she would be a quicker learner than that, as the finger found it's mark, and she gripped the grenade with her other hand.

“Alright,” Ironheart said. “Now, we're going to want this one to explode on impact. Can't rely on it landing near the target and doing any damage, so you'll need to hold the grenade for four seconds, then throw direct to where you want to explode.”

Roslyn pulled the pin out and shivered again. She imagined over-counting in the heat of the moment and blowing herself up.

“Three,” Ironheart counted. “Four!”

Roslyn imagined she was playing catch with the girls back on Carnford. Throwing the ball from one side of the graveyard to the other. The grenade was even red like the ball used to be. It barrelled towards the wooden target, and struck into the wood, before it suddenly exploded, shredding the top of the target and ripping a large crack through the middle of the rest of it.”

“Well well,” Ironheart said. “First time and everything.” She slapped Roslyn on the back with an armoured gauntlet. “Now when you're in battle you just have to make sure you do it like that and you can't go wrong.”

Ironheart probably thought her words were encouraging, but once again Roslyn found her head filled with thoughts and speculations of horrible injury and death.

****

After Roslyn had left weapons training, she was surprised to find Sister Senna heading in the opposite direction. The two of them stopped when they recognised each other.

Roslyn found Senna even more curious in this light. It was the first time she had really looked her in the eye, and noticed that the woman even had the ceremonial scars running a pattern across her face. She looked even more out of place in comparison to the other sisters.

It was Senna who spoke first. “I just want to say, Syn didn't need to do you like that.”

Roslyn was a little confused. “I'm sorry?”

Senna looked away and sighed. “Look, you've got no right to judge us. Syn was right to be upon you for that, no doubt. But she could have done anything to you this morning, and she didn't need to take it that far.”

Roslyn wasn't sure how to respond at first. She didn't want to make the situation worse, but at the same time, wanted to make sure she knew exactly where they stood. “Are... are you apologising to me?” she asked.

Senna smiled. “Frag no, you deserved to get got the way you look down on us all high and mighty.”

Roslyn didn't say anything. She wanted to object to Senna's characterisation of her, but she didn't know how to put it into words that didn't sound like she was trying to lecture her.

“But, I'm not without sympathy,” Senna said. “Syn... she... she's been alone for most of her life. Even when she joined, she wasn't like the other sisters. Me and her, we're both outsiders. When she thinks people have a problem with the two of us... well... she won't be able to think about anything else.”

Roslyn nodded, but continued to stand in silence.

“Well,” said Senna, realising there was little else to discuss. “It's over now. Long as you stay out of our way you'll have nothing else to worry about.”

Roslyn sighed. Much as she had objected to it, it seemed that Augusta was right. Roslyn had one less thing to worry about, and her throbbing nose was quick becoming a faded memory.

“Thank you Sister Senna,” she said. “The Emperor Protects.”

Senna's smile dropped off her face then, and she suddenly looked principled and revenant. “Emperor take you to glory, Sister.”

They then parted ways, and Roslyn suddenly felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her, and the ship's grey corridors didn't seem as dark and dingy as they once had.

****

The rest of the day proceeded with little incident. Synthecia was silent over dinner, and evening prayer was fast becoming familiar. When Roslyn put herself to sleep that night, tired and exhausted as she usually was, it was the first night she didn't fear waking up the following day.


	8. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Eight

By Jack Harvey

Three weeks later, and Roslyn had almost forgotten what it was like to live on Carnford. For the most part she felt as much a part of the Order of the Weeping Martyr as the rest of her sisters, and, while she still lagged way behind during morning exercise, when the other sisters overtook her their jibes were mostly in the name of humour rather than humiliation.

“Watch out Sister Roslyn,” called Sister Hornigold as she overtook her. “Just saw Deacon Tritetta coming up from behind. I think you're going to have to speed up.”

Roslyn smiled but held in the laugh, knowing that she had to make sure she regulated her breathing to maintain a constant speed on her circuit of the cargo bay.

“Hey Sister Roslyn,” Sister Druga said as she overtook her. “Sparring tomorrow?”

“Going for an easy target?” Roslyn asked.

Druga turned round and began running backwards so she could talk face to face. “Nah. I just want to see if you've improved. Sparring with Marie all the time gets a little boring.”

Likewise, Roslyn had lost count of how many times she had sparred with the other sisters. Sometimes she was struck, and sometimes she struck them, but the prospect no longer fazed her. “Alright,” she said. “Me and you, tomorrow.”

Druga laughed, before turning and speeding off. “Emperor go with you sister.”

Roslyn smiled.

****

She wasn't that far behind once she had finished her second circuit, and Sister Superior Augusta seemed to notice too.

“Well done Sister Roslyn,” she shouted as she punched a button on her stopwatch. “That was a twenty minute improvement over your best. Keep this up and you'll be overtaking Sister Umbra.”

The blonde haired Sister Umbra glared at Augusta, but she thought better than to give any backtalk.

“Thank you Sister Superior,” Roslyn said.

Augusta just nodded, and slapped her on the shoulder. “Alright sisters, go hit the showers. I'll see you at morning prayer. The Emperor Protects.”

“The Emperor Protects,” they all shouted in unison, and made their way to exit the cargo bay.

Roslyn picked up a towel and rubbed the sweat off her brow on the way out. When she took the towel away she noticed that the entrance to the nearby utility closet was ajar.

She glanced down the corridor. Most of the other sisters had made their way to the end, and none seemed to have noticed Roslyn had taken a step back.

Roslyn pushed the door open with a creek, and poked her head through.

True to form Sister Chalice was lying there in a daze. Roslyn breathed a heavy sigh. She stepped into the closet, kneeled down, and shook her.

“Sister Chalice,” she said softly.

Chalice woke and blinked her bloodshot eyes open. For a moment she looked confused, as though she didn't recognise Roslyn, but then she smiled.

“Sister Roslyn,” she said in her raspy voice. “How are you doing?”

Roslyn looked down at the girl and felt pity for her. During Roslyn's early days in the order when she was bumbling about in tears, Chalice positively looked as though she had things figured out. Now that Roslyn had found her feet, she could see Chalice for what she really was. Somebody who was lost within herself.

Roslyn smiled. “I'm doing well,” she said. “I just shaved twenty minutes off my personal best.”

“Heyyyy,” Chalice laughed, slapping her on an already well-slapped shoulder. “I told you you had nothing to wooorry about.”

Roslyn nodded. “Oh, by the way,” she said. “I never thanked you for your advice about going to see Brother Meany. He's really been a big help.”

Chalice smiled and pointed at her. “I told you he wasss alright,” then she leaned in and whispered in her ear. “He tell you that story about lying to the Inquisitor?”

Roslyn's heart skipped a beat. Brother Meany told her that story in confidence, or so she had thought.

“What?” she asked. “I mean... yes he did but...”

Chalice laughed. “Ahhhh he tells that story to everybody. I'll be honest I don'tttt even know if it's true.”

Chalice carried on laughing, and against her best efforts Roslyn started laughing too.

“I keep tellllling him though,” Chalice continued. “He needs to keep his mmmmouth shut. One a' these days he's going to tell it to the wrong person and then...”

Sister Chalice then proceeded to make a motion with her finger across her throat.

Roslyn suddenly felt a movement at the pit of her stomach, but she dismissed it. “Yes, well...” she said with a cough. “Speaking of things that could get a person in trouble on this ship... Sister Chalice... I have to ask... do you not think it would be best to try and... take a break?”

Roslyn was unsure she should be broaching such a subject with the sister, but looking at the poor girl wasting away in the corner, after she had showed her the hand of friendship, Roslyn had decided she must at least say something.

“From the obscura I mean,” Roslyn finished.

Chalice looked to the ground, her smile receding, then she looked back up. Roslyn could see a sheen of tears on the girl's eyes, and suddenly Chalice started to cry loudly. Instinctively, she leaned forward and pulled her into a hug.

“You... you're the first sister on this ship to even suggest it,” Chalice said through tears. “I... I knowww it's killing me, I know, but if they don't care then why should I?”

Roslyn felt the tears wetting her shoulder and felt as though she were about to cry too. She stroked the back of Chalice's scruffy hair. “I'm sure they do,” Roslyn said. “Of course they do, they just... they just have a hard time putting it into words.”

“They avoid me,” she cried. “They ssstill blame me for losing the Cardinal.” Suddenly Chalice leaned back, and started shaking her head. “But they don't know, they weren't there. I was. I still am. I sssee it every time I close my eyes.”

Chalice closed her eyes, and the tears ran down her face.

“If they'd seen what I'd seen, they'd take the obscura too.”

Roslyn looked down, and pondered what to say. She was no authority. She was just a green sister who'd never even seen combat.

“Well I care about you,” Roslyn decided to say, in the end.

Chalice looked back up at her. “Really?”

Roslyn shrugged, she decided it was time for honesty. “You're a wreck Sister Chalice, but it's obvious you mean well. I just hate to see you suffer like this.”

Chalice nodded. “I just... I just don't know where to go from here.”

Roslyn put her hands on Chalice's. “I'll tell you what Sister Chalice. Because I like you, and I really like our chats, I'd really like to have one where you're fully here.”

“Fully here?” Chalice asked.

“So here's what I'm suggesting,” Roslyn said. “Once a week, after morning exercise, I'm going to meet you here, and for that day, and just that one day, I don't want you to take any obscura. Then we'll talk, you and me, fully ourselves.”

Chalice wiped her eyes while she thought it over. Roslyn honestly didn't know if she was doing the right thing getting involved, but it beat doing nothing.

“Yeah, okay,” Chalice nodded. “I can do that.”

Roslyn smiled. “Same time next week?” Roslyn said.

“Sure,” Chalice replied, eyes clearing. “Next week.”

“Good,” Roslyn smiled, and she stood to go for the closet door. “I'll see you then.”

****

Once lunch had rolled around Roslyn was surprised to see that most of her squad were missing from the table. She looked around, but they didn't seem to be at the entrance of the canteen either. Oddly enough, she also noticed a couple of missing sisters from the table over too, including Sister Touro.

Felling suspicious, Roslyn left back the way she came and looked up and down the corridor. The most likely other place they would surely be was the bunk room, so she made her way in that direction.

True enough, a group of sisters were gathered in the otherwise empty room. As light creaked through the door, they all glanced towards it in a panic.

“Oh,” said Sister Hornigold. “It's just Sister Roslyn.”

“Get the warp out of here Sister,” shouted Synthecia. “This isn't for you.”

“Shut the frag up Syn,” Sister Touro shot at her. “There's enough to go around,” she then popped her shaved head up from the huddle. “Get over here Sister Roslyn, quick.”

With no idea what she had walked into, Roslyn scuttled over, as the huddle made room for her. Once in the centre, she noticed they had gathered round a crumpled up piece of foil, and within were strange brown strips that reminded Roslyn of leather.

“What is it?” Roslyn asked.

“Try it,” Touro replied.

Tentatively, Roslyn took one. It was lighter than she expected. It smelled salty and she realised that the other sisters had been eating it.

Not knowing what to expect she put it into her mouth and took a bite.

The next few moments could not be described as anything other than glorious to Roslyn. There was flavour, actual flavour, on her tongue. There was saltiness, there was texture, there was a pepper, and a warmth she could barely comprehend.

It was the first thing she had eaten since leaving Carnford that wasn't protein paste and there was no way she could have been prepared for it.

“It's... it's... it's...” she stuttered, as a smile spread across her face.

“Heh,” Synthecia laughed. “It's new meat.”

“What... how...where?” she said to Touro in between bites.

Touro shook her head. “I told these here, and I'm telling you too. No questions. You want this to happen again, you don't question any of it. You don't hassle me for it, and you don't go running your mouth either.”

“Alright,” Roslyn nodded, as she shoved another chunk into her mouth. “No questions. Got it.”

“And don't hog the stuff,” Touro said. “Every sister here deserves a share.”

The sisters then frantically and in silence began gobbling up what was left. She watched the others as she did. Touro was the most interesting, more proud to be sharing her bounty than partaking in it. Hornigold smiled and did her best to hold in giggles, as Marie bit each piece apart with her teeth, like some kind of rabid animal. Druga was passing them round, apparently making sure everyone got an equal share.

Syncthecia and Senna, well, they were just happy to share the moment.

Suddenly, light shone through from an open door, and the sisters turned, just like last time. Roslyn turned with them, and swallowed a half chewed lump of the meat as she saw it was Sister Superior Augusta.

“What's all this?” she asked, a stern look on her face. “You sisters are supposed to be at the canteen.”

Touro quickly snatched away the foil and what was left of the strips. She scrumpled it up frantically, before shoving it under her vestments.

“We, eh,” said Druga, struggling for an excuse.

“Sparring,” said Touro sharply, and she confidently swaggered over to Augusta. Roslyn started breathing frantically, scarcely believing that a sister would so brazenly flaunt their disobedience in front of a Sister Superior. Still, it seemed to be working.

“Sparring?” Augusta said. “You don't look like you were sparring.”

“No, Sister Superior,” said Touro. “We were discussing sparring.”

“In the dormitories?” Augusta asked, sensing something was up.

“Well,” sighed Touro. “You know Emperor's Day is coming up? Well we were thinking of having a little friendly sparring tournament between squads. You know, spirit of friendly competition and all?”

“So why all the secrecy,” asked Augusta, still struggling to follow Touro's reasoning, and taking a few steps towards the group. “Why not just come to one us with the idea.”

“Well it's still only at the idea stage,” Touro said, frantically following her. “I literally just grabbed a few sisters who might be interested to see what they thought.”

Augusta had approached Roslyn now, who was now running her tongue across the inside of her mouth, to make sure there wasn't any trace of the meat to see.

“So,” Augusta said, looking at her. “Sister Roslyn? They brought you here to talk about sparring?”

Roslyn realised how absurd the idea was, and thought quickly. “Well, uh, Sister Superior, I...”

Touro's eyes widened, as though she was trying to communicate some silent thought.

“They just wanted to make sure I didn't feel left out,” Roslyn said, with a quick smile, and an innocent flutter of her eyelashes. “I mean, you know I'll be useless in the ring, so they wanted to know if I'd be the one to keep score.”

Augusta leaned forward and sniffed.

Roslyn swallowed.

“Sounds good,” Augusta said, leaning back. Once you've hashed out the idea let me know, I'll get the word around.”

Seemingly satisfied Augusta began to make her way to the door. “Now get back to the mess hall, you'll miss your share of lunch.” Then she left.

The group breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Synthecia was laughing. “Hey Sister Roslyn guess what?” she said.

Rolling her eyes and bracing for an insult, Roslyn answered. “What?”

“You know, back on Volistad, they used to have these pit fights, right?” she continued.

“Right,” Roslyn said.

“Well, they liked their score keepers to, you know, liven things us. You know?”

“Not really,” Roslyn said, wanting her to just get to the point.

“Well, they, uh,” she said with a laugh. “They didn't wear much. So, I guess I'm flattered you're up for showing a bit of skin to us all for Emperor's Day, Sister Roslyn.”

The group of sisters laughed.

“Oh please,” Roslyn said, shaking her head.

“Listen Sister,” Touro said. “You only have to ask, I can put something together for you. Skimpy, but tasteful.”

Roslyn shoved Touro out of the way. “I'll be fine keeping count, thanks,” she said, before pausing. “Wait, when is Emperor's Day?”

“End of the month,” Druga said.

“End of the month?” said Roslyn, her voice spiking. “It can't be, we only just celebrated Harvest's Eve. It's months away.”

“Well maybe it is on Carnford,” Synthecia said, striding over in a mocking parody of a dance. “But here in the Order we work by a different time table, so you better get learning those hymns Sister Roslyn.”

Roslyn suddenly started breathing frantically, realising she hadn't even conceived that the annual celebration could take place on different dates around the galaxy. She cursed her stupidity. Then her brain went into overdrive. Back on Carnford she had prepared for Emperor's Day months in advance. It had been her duty, year after year, to make sure the festival went off without a hitch.

“But, I don't, I haven't,” she muttered. “What hymns? What's the schedule of the ceremony. Do we do gifts? Where would we even get gifts from? Do we decorate, what do we decorate with? Trees? Can we get a tree on the ship? And the dances, do we do dances? I don't even know what's what!”

Quickly Druga ran over and put a hand on her chest. “Sister Roslyn,” she said. “Breathe.”

Roslyn suddenly calmed now, and nodded her head.

“Look, it's only Emperor's Day,” Druga continued. “Just do what we all do and you'll be fine.”

“Okay,” Roslyn said, controlling her breaths. “Okay, I'm fine.”

“Alright,” Druga said, leading her to the door. “Now lets get back to the mess hall before Sister Superior Augusta starts asking too many questions.”

****

“So it's this big, you see?” Brother Meany said, holding out his arms in front of him. His impression was the width of the confessional.

“And you're telling me people have to carry them, without the aid of power armour?”

Brother Meany nodded. “The Eviscerator acts as a powerful weapon, but it was never truly meant to be one.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “That's why they'll mostly be given to suicide units, though it's not unheard of for some of my calling to go into battle wielding them. If you've got something to prove I suppose it's a good way of getting attention.”

Roslyn swallowed nervously. “Brother Meany,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he said with a smile.

“The penetant legions,” she said. “Is everything they say about them true?”

Brother Meany nodded, unperturbed by the question as usual. “Oh yes. When sisters fall short of their duty to the Emperor they spend the rest of their lives trying to gain forgiveness. They forgo their possessions, self flagellate, go into battle without concern for their own lives.” His smile then slipped a moment. “In many respects their faith in the Emperor is admirable.”

“Brother Meany,” Roslyn continued. “Why doesn't the Order of the Weeping Martyr have a penetant legion?”

The confessor then crossed his arms and leaned back. “The edict came down from the Canoness herself,” he said. “It would no longer be an option for a sister to volunteer for penance. If any sister truly and catastrophically failed in the line of duty then they would be given the option to take their own life, or face execution.”

“I'm sorry,” Roslyn said, stopping Brother Meany. “You said volunteer for penance? I thought being made repentia was a punishment.”

“Oh it is,” Brother Meany said. “But often, a self inflicted one. Most repentia go to their fate willingly, wracked though they are by the guilt of their failures.”

Roslyn was taken aback. Even now, when she thought she had heard all there was to know about being a Battle Sister there were still new surprises in store. “So, have any of the order attempted to be made repentia? Before the Cannoness took the option away I mean?”

Brother Meany's face grew sadder then. He nodded his head and looked to the ground. “Sister Chalice,” he said. “She felt responsible for what happened to the Cardinal since she was the sole survivor. It wasn't her command, however, and after a review it was concluded that penance was not necessary.”

Roslyn felt a heaviness in the pit of her stomach then. Suddenly the stories she had been told about Chalice had taken a darker tone.

“It wasn't a decision taken lightly,” he continued. “Many of the priesthood wanted to see the girl committed to a repentia unit. I had to interject personally to stop them from trying to overrule the Sisters.”

Roslyn realised that it was no wonder the priests on the ship felt as though they had been personally slighted.

“We all have to serve The Emperor in the best ways we can,” he said solemnly. “Not everyone agrees what the best way to do that is. Heck, most people can't agree. Xenos, heretics, those are the easy parts. It's what we do with the hours in between that the real challenge comes.”

Roslyn looked to the floor.

“So,” said Brother Meany, moving the conversation along as though they had been discussing nothing but the weather. “How are your preparations for Emperor's Day coming along?”

****

Roslyn couldn't keep still once evening prayer had come around. Over the last two weeks she had gotten herself a reputation for captivating readings and prayer recital. While she still lagged behind on the physical side of being a Battle Sister, on the spiritual side she had excelled. This had been the forth time in as many weeks that the Sister Superiors had asked her to lead the recital, and though she was honoured to do so, she also felt giddy at the prospect.

She stood at the pulpit, prayer book in front of her. While she knew many prayers like the back of her hand, she decided to not grow complacent in her duties, and had taken steps to learn new prayers in the meantime.

“Given that Emperor's Day is close,” she began, her voice confident and full of authority. “I deemed it prudent for us to recite some litanies to show that we are thankful that in his benevolence he has brought us this far, and to reinforce that it is a privilege that he grants, in which we travel across the stars to bring so many together to witness his glory.”

No sisters talked or mumbled. They simply sat in silence.

Roslyn put her hands together and made the sign of the Aquila, “O eternal Emperor, who alone watches us, and rules the tides and storms, be compassionate to your servants, preserve us from the perils of the warp, that we may be a safeguard to the domain of men.”

Roslyn held up the text.

“The Emperor protects,” she said.

“The Emperor protects,” the sisters chanted back.

Roslyn smiled, making a mental note that they were still undergoing warp travel, and really were at the whims of the Emperor's radiance holding the dark realm open.

Her fears faded away quickly, however, as she left the pulpit and a smiling Augusta nodded in approval.

****

At the end of the day Roslyn lay back on her bed content. All around her sisters were fussing with their vestments, or complaining about something or other, or gossiping about some drama or other, but Roslyn was just happy to rest her feet after a long day.

“Hey Sister Roslyn,” said Sister Touro, peeking her head over from the top of her bunk. “Quick thinking today. Good work. I'll make sure you've got a treat set aside when the good stuff comes out on Emperor's Day”

Roslyn sighed. She cared little for the promise of more of Touro's contraband, and felt as though she didn't earn the praise. Augusta buying her excuse was just dumb luck. “We're not out of the hot water yet,” she said. “Now the Sister Superior expects us to organise something for Emperor's Day.”

“She'll have forgotten about it by the time it rolls around,” Touro said, dismissively.

“But what if she doesn't,” Roslyn said. “Do you want her to find out about the contraband?”

Touro huffed. “Look, I'm too careful for that, but if you're really worried, you go ahead and organise the sparring.”

“Me?” Roslyn said, shooting up out of the bunk in a panic. “I wouldn't know the first thing or organising a sparring tournament.”

“Well organise something else then,” she said. “Tell them the sparring wasn't feasible and you did something else.”

“I don't know anything else,” Roslyn said pitifully.

“Come on,” sighed Touro. “What did you do on Carnford for Emperor's Day?”

Roslyn thought back to her homeworld. It had felt like centuries since she had been there. “Feasts,” she said. “I don't suppose there'll be any of that here.”

“Hey,” said Touro. “They give us flavoured protein paste for festivals. I mean the stuff still tastes like drek but it's better than the usual.” Touro leaned forward. “Besides, you leave the feasts to me, if you catch my drift.” She winked.

Roslyn shook her head. “Well other than the feasts we always had the Emperor's Day ceremony at the convent. The entire sector would come down for that.”

“Ecclesiarchy already has that covered,” Touro said. “Deacon Trietta is supposedly leading it this year.”

Roslyn had no intention of crossing the Deacon again. “Well, other than that I guess there was the afternoon dance.”

“Dance?” Touro asked. “Well there you go then. Organise a dance.”

Roslyn laughed. “A dance? Here? With the sisters?” She had never heard something so absurd.

“It's that or a sparring tournament,” Touro said dismissively.

Roslyn rubbed her tired eyes. “Even if it was possible, we'd need musicians, songs, ballads. Where would we even find those?”

“Ask around,” Touro said. “I don't know. The priesthood are tooting tunes out of their organs all the time. Enginseer Calissa never shuts up about that weird ad-mech stuff they listen to, and I'm sure Hospitaller Brunhild said she used to play... something. Figure it out.”

Touro then turned away and flopped her head onto her pillow, clearly done with the conversation. Roslyn herself lay back, but her brain began to go into overdrive.

She decided she had work to do.


	9. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> The song that appears in this chapter In the Dale, was partially inspired by the song On The Beach by Randy Newman, which appears on his 2017 album Dark Matter.
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Eight

By Jack Harvey

For the first morning since joining the order Roslyn wasn't woken by the morning bell, nor greeted with the voices and grumbles of sisters readying themselves for a day of gruelling training and intense recital.

Instead Roslyn was roused from her slumber by the sound of giggling sisters. She looked around the dorm, as it was filled with smiling faces and relaxed postures. She felt as though she were not surrounded by deadly battle priests, but instead careless children.

There seemed to be no rush about, and so Roslyn roused herself from her slumber and began to get dressed.

“Alright,” said Sister Superior Augusta as she was leaning in the door. “I know you all want to take the day off to do your own things, but remember that this is the Emperor's day and so you still owe him your deference.”

Augusta smiled over and nodded to Roslyn, who waved back.

“Remember the the Emperor's Day ceremony is being held in the hanger at midday, and you'll all be expected to be in attendance. The Ecclesiarchy and the Adeptus Mechanicus will all be expected to be there as well.”

Roslyn stretched her arms, sending a silent message to Augusta that she was waiting for something.

Augusta nodded. “And while you may all have plans of your own after lunch, Sister Roslyn has organised a dance in the mess hall.”

Suddenly the sisters in the room started hooting and hollering, in a way that was mocking but also playful.

“Alright, alright,” Augusta said, laughing. “It's entirely up to you if you want to attend. I'm just letting you know it's there.”

Roslyn's smile grew wider. She didn't care if anyone attended or not, just the fact that she had been allowed to contribute was reward enough.

“Beyond that, please yourselves. Just remember that we're back at it tomorrow, so no excuses, I'll want to see you for morning training same as always.”

Some sisters began booing. Augusta laughed.

“Have a good Emperor's Day ladies,” she said, and left the room.

****

The morning was filled with all sorts of joy. Sisters sat about the ship, talking and chatting without worrying if a superior was going to discipline them for insubordination.

Brother Meany was making his way around the ship, collecting prayer requests from sisters written on notes that were to be burned at the main ceremony, to show they were going direct to the Emperor. Roslyn considered writing one herself, but decided that her worries probably paled in comparison to others, and instead politely declined.

“I'll write one out for you myself,” Brother Meany said simply, with a wink.

Roslyn had decided to spend the morning walking the corridors of the ship, and eventually she had made her way to the hanger. She was curious to see how the decorations were going.

Enginseer Calissa, along with their servitors, and a couple of priests, were hanging massive great golden wreathes. The wreathes were being suspended from lifting cranes, and great banners depicting the Imperial eagle were flowing down the huge walls. A stage sat at the far end flanked by two of the order's large shuttles. Deacon Trietta stood there, overseeing the work.

“There you are,” said Sister Touro, panting as she rounded the corridor. “I've been looking for you everywhere.”

Touro held up a bundled up piece of foil. “This is your share,” she said, before pulling open her hand and putting it on her palm.

Roslyn opened the foil slightly, and immediately could smell the peppery odour of the meat. A smile ran across her face.

“Plus this,” Touro held up a glass bottle. Roslyn recognised it as the kind of thing that Hospitaller Brunhild kept medicinal tonics in, yet this one was filled with a purple substance.

Roslyn gasped. “Is this...?”

Touro nodded. “Concentrated fruit juice.”

“Oh,” said Roslyn, her smile dropping immediately. “I thought it would be, you know, hooch or something.”

Touro looked shocked. “Sister Roslyn, we took an oath of temperance when we joined the order!”

Roslyn rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, a couple of drinks a year doesn't count.”

“Maybe,” said Touro, "But meat and juice is as far as I'll go. I don't have the confidence or the know how to start troubling myself with liquor.”

“Oh well,” Roslyn sighed, a smile returning. “At least it's something. Thank you.”

“And if anyone asks you just found them lying around, okay?” Touro said, making her way back down the corridor. “None of this has anything to do with me.”

“Happy Emperor's Day Sister Touro” Roslyn called after her.

“Happy Emperor's Day Sister Roslyn,” Touro said without turning back.

****

The ceremony came down quicker than expected. After a morning of relaxing and chatting, Roslyn and the rest of the giddy sisters were ushered into the hanger, where benches had been arranged to seat the entire crew of the ship.

The smell of incense in the air was palpable, and Roslyn found herself nearly sneezing a couple of times because of it.

Over by the stage Palatine Zennica was discussing what Roslyn presumed was the order of events with Deacon Trietta and a group of Sister Superiors. A choir of Sister Celestians stood by the stage singing hymns to the Emperor. While Roslyn was sat quite near the front she couldn't make them out over the sound of gossiping sisters.

Sisters Druga and Hornigold were chatting to each other.

“Why did they pick Deacon Trietta to host the ceremony?” Druga grumbled.

“I know,” replied Hornigold, brushing her long black hair out of her eyes. “She's probably going to take the opportunity to just complain about us.”

“Maybe there's more to her than you think,” said Roslyn.

“What?” shot Druga plainly.

Hornigold looked confused. “Did I... bop you a little too hard on the head last sparring session? Don't you remember how she carried on over you and the candle?”

“I'm just saying that she's a human being like the rest of us and sometimes It's worth remembering that,” Roslyn said cryptically.

The two sisters shook their heads.

Eventually the choir and gossiping sisters quietened down as the ceremony begun. A sister Roslyn didn't recognise made her way to the stage.

“The Emperor Protects,” she said, making the sign of the Aquila.

“The Emperor Protects,” the entire hall said in unison.

“We are brought here today to celebrate the Ascension of our great Emperor to the Golden Throne, where he resides to this day, watching us, protecting us, and holding open the gates to the warp so that we might defend and expand this most holy empire.”

A group of sisters in front of Roslyn were nodding. This made Roslyn feel a little jealous, as having previously been given the chance to do the readings during general prayer she would have loved to have opened Emperor's Day. However, she had to accept that she had only been with the order for a couple of months, and still hadn't truly made a name for herself yet.

After a few opening prayers, the next to speak was Palatine Zennica, who approached the stage in full power armour, each step gave a distinct thump on the wooden supports. Roslyn imagined it collapsing beneath her and tried to suppress a giggle.

“Sisters of the Order of the Weeping Martyr,” she said at the top of her voice. “It has been quite a year. We have seen hardships. We have seen new faces. We have seen our orders change drastically and gone to worlds we never expected to. Yet, not one of you has questioned the will of The Emperor. Not one of you has performed your duties with a word of complaint.”

“Pfffttt,” muttered Druga. “Keep on dreaming.”

“Druga!” called Sister Marie, who was sitting behind them. “Shut up!” She dug an elbow into Druga's back, and it seemed to work.

“On this Emperor's Day each of us will be coming forward with prayers and requests to his radiance. I'm sure many of you will be asking for safe passage through the warp, or protection the next time you see combat. Myself, all I ask him to grant me is another year in the company of sisters that make me proud. Sisters that can perform their duties to the quality that you all do.”

Roslyn found herself wondering how sincere Zennica's words were, but she saw no doubt or deception on the Palatine's face.

“If another year of that is all I get, then anything else will be a privilege,” she said, looking to the floor and nodding. “But I would be lying if I didn't also pray that each and every one of you lives to serve the Emperor to your eldest days.”

A solemn mood came over the sisters then. Roslyn didn't expect to hear the Palatine talk so sincerely.

It didn't take long for a serious look to return to her face, however. “Of course, it would be remiss of me on this Emperor's Day to not mention the contributions from the Priests of the Ecclesiarchy who help us hear the word of the Emperor, the Tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus who keep our machines and weapons afloat, the Astropaths of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica who help us communicate with the Emperor's great Imperium, and the Navigators of the Navis Nobilite who keep the Victorium safe and stable in the dangerous tides of the warp.”

Roslyn looked around, to see most of the sisters had now bowed their heads.

Zennica continued, while a sickly looking, pale man in a robe approached her. He was one of the Victorium's Astropaths. “Without their tireless work we...”

Zennica paused as the man whispered something in her ear.

“Deacon Trietta is now going to take over for the main recital of the ceremony.” Zennica then said quickly. “I thank her most of all for performing this honoured duty on today, the most holiest of days. The Emperor Protects.”

Zennica then strode off the stage, pushing her way past other sisters and priests impatiently.

“The Emperor Protects,” the entire hanger said in unison.

“I wonder what that was all about?” Hornigold said.

Before any of the other sisters could deliberate Deacon Trietta had taken the stage. She stood there proudly, but she did not smile.

“Palatine Zennica has given you praise,” she said. “But it does you well to remember the reason you are all here. You only live to enjoy Emperor's Day, his day, by his own merciful grace. Were you all to show any flippancy, any sign of disrespect, his benevolence would surely crush you in his grasp.”

Druga turned to Roslyn and raised her eyebrows.

“You probably all think that our smooth sailing through the warp is a reward from the Emperor. A boon!” Trietta's voice continued to get more intense, and more insufferably righteous. “I tell you all that you should know that it is a privilege. The Emperor, in his grace has seen fit to allow safe passage. This he does not owe us. He does not owe us anything. Were he to leave us to the perils of the warp and cast us aside to the horrors of the dark gods then know only that his decision must be right.”

Hornigold put her head in her hands and leaned over, her black hair nearly touching the floor. “I knew it was going to be like this.”

“Hey,” said Marie, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It's Emperor's Day. It'll be over soon enough and then we can get back to the festivities.”

Trietta thrust her hands into the air. “Know that he could smite the pitiful wretches that we are in but a moment!” Her speech, or what could be better described as a rant, had now hit it's full momentum. “It is only by his light that we can even conceive of the possibility that salvation could be assured. Yet temptation lurks at every turn!”

Though she tried to listen, Roslyn couldn't help but lose interest in Trietta's speech. Suddenly she felt a hard metal object land on her back. It was Sister Jane's metal appendage.

“Sister Roslyn,” Jane said. “So, this dance, is it still happening?”

Rosyln rolled her eyes. “I told you all last week it was still happening,” she said. “If anything had changed then I would have let you all know.”

“Alright,” Jane said. “Who have you got to do the music?”

“Uhhh,” Roslyn said, glancing back at an animated Trietta on the stage. “It's a surprise, you'll just have to wait and see.”

Jane nodded. “Fine,” was all she said.

Trietta's little speech had now come to an end and she was reading the recital proper. All the sisters now got to their feet and opened the texts that had been left for them beneath the bench. Roslyn knew exactly where to go. Reading four hundred, Benediction of the Ascension.

The entire populace of the hanger spoke in unison. “O Immortal Emperor, today we honour thee, thy sacrifice never forgotten, thy light always with us. Upon the Golden Throne thy rests, gaze ever upon us, thy hands holding back the powers of the warp. We thank thee for thy radiance, for now and for all eternity.”

Roslyn then flipped the pages of the book back. This was then followed by a reading of The Emperor's Prayer. Roslyn once again needed no instruction, as she recited the reading perfectly.

Soon enough, the service was over, and the sisters were shuffled out while servitors began to get the place back into a practical condition again.

****

“Wow,” Roslyn said, scooping the protein paste into her mouth. There was taste, actual taste to the gritty slop. She could detect a tomato flavour, and a little pepper. “This is great. Why don't they serve this to us all the time if they have it?”

“Because if they did that they'd have nothing to serve us on Emperor's Day,” Druga said. “Trust me, if we ate this all the time it'd feel just as tasteless as the usual stuff.”

Having been deprived of anything remotely flavoursome for months, Roslyn was just glad to use her taste buds for once. She scooped the slop into her mouth as though her life depended on it.

“Now don't go filling yourself up just yet Sister Roslyn,” came a voice she recognised.

Looking up she saw that it was Sister Ironheart brandishing a tray. Her large frame towered over the rest of the squad at the table, so they couldn't make out what was on the tray she was holding.

“Not before you've had some zita bread,” she said, putting the tray down on the table. It held small, yellow coloured rectangles of bread.

Suddenly the sisters all began scrabbling for a piece. “Alright, alright everyone share. You know the drill,” Sister Ironheart shouted.

Roslyn picked up a piece and took a little nibble. The bread was flaky and sweet, not like anything she had eaten on on Carnford. While it didn't particularly have a strong taste, Roslyn concluded that it would probably go well with some herbs and a hearty helping of butter.

Sighing at the memory of what even humble stocks the convent used to have, she wiped the bread into her slightly flavoured slop and decided to make do.

Another Sister was handing out a tray on the table next to her. She heard Touro shout “Frag! I knew they were holding out on me!”

Roslyn couldn't help but smile once again. It could have been the happiest day she's had since she joined the order.

Most of the sisters wolfed down their food and got up to leave, making the most of the freedom they had been given to do as they pleased for the day.

Roslyn got to her feet to address them. “Don't forget sisters, the dance will be starting in less than an hour so be sure to be back here if you want to partake.”

“Pffft,” scoffed Synthecia, her arm around Senna as they were making to leave. “Nobody gives a damn about your loser dance Sister Roslyn.”

Roslyn put her hands on her hips. “I'll have you know that quite a lot of sisters have expressed interest,” she said. “But nobody is forcing you to partake Sister Synthecia. I just thought you and Senna might enjoy doing something together.”

Synthecia gave out a small laugh, and rolled her eyes. “Let's get out of here,” she said to Senna.

Senna turned her head to Roslyn and gave her a sympathetic shrug. The two then left.

“Let them go Sister Roslyn,” said Hornigold, who's long hair appeared to have got stuck in her protein paste. “You're never going to win over Syn.”

“Uhhh,” Roslyn said. She pointing to her hair.

Hornigold took a moment to realise what she was suggesting, then noticed. “Ahhh frak, this happens every year!”

Roslyn was about to laugh when she felt a tug on her arm.

“Oh, Sister Chalice,” she said, realising who it was. “Happy Emperor's Day.”

“H.. happy Emperor's Day,” Chalice said smiling and rubbing the back of her head nervously.

Roslyn could tell that Chalice was looking much healthier than when they had first met. Her eyes were less sunken and her pupils were more lucid. Her lips were fuller and less dry, and she no longer slurred her words when she spoke. It was clear she still partook in the obsucra, but she must have cut down heavily.

“You're looking well,” Roslyn said.

“Thanks,” Chalice said, looking away. “I've been... well you know.”

“I know,” Roslyn said. “I know.”

Chalice stopped rubbing her neck and instead took Roslyn by the hands gently. “I... just wanted to thank you. I've still got a long way to go, but...” she looked Roslyn in the eyes then. “I guess I just needed someone to let me know I mattered, even in a little way.”

Roslyn thought about all the things she had learned about Chalice since her time in the order. She knew that the girl had ended up on a self destructive path, and it must have been very difficult for her to open up like that.

Roslyn smiled. “You know you can always come to me to talk.”

Chalice nodded and rubbed her hand in her short hair. She didn't say anything, but she smiled.

Roslyn looked around the room, it was starting to quieten down. She took out the tin foil package that Touro had given her earlier and pulled out a chunk of the dried meat. “Here,” she said, giving it to Chalice.

“What's this?” she asked, surprised.

“A present,” Roslyn said, quickly. “Just take a bite before anyone sees.”

Chalice quickly put the morsel into her mouth and her face scrunched up suddenly. She closed her eyes, leaned back and a smile spread across her face as she chewed.

“Woah, what is this?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Roslyn said, still looking around nervously. “Just make sure you don't tell anyone you got it from me.”

Chalice's face returned to a normal expression. “Don't worry, you know I can keep a secret on where illicit substances come from.” she said.

“Well I suppose that's true,” Roslyn said, before deciding it would be prudent to move on. “So, are you going to be attending the dance?”

Chalice's smile dropped a little and she looked to the floor. “Uhh, I don't know. That kind of thing doesn't sound like my scene.”

“Come on,” Roslyn said, smiling, and holding out a hand. “It'll be fun, even just for a little while.”

Chalice nodded, and her smile returned. “Okay,” she said.

****

Once more than half of the mess hall was empty Roslyn and the few sisters who offered a helping hand began moving the tables to the side and clearing out a large open area. A border of seats was made around the edges. The lights were dimmed and candles were lit, creating what Roslyn felt was a somewhat romantic and sentimental ambiance.

Only just over a half dozen sisters had gathered, but among them was Druga, Marie, Hornigold and Chalice. While the turnout had been less than she had hoped for, Roslyn was warmed to know at least some had stayed to support her.

“So what's the plan?” asked Druga. “Are we just supposed to start singing?”

“We just have to wait for the musician to arrive,” said Roslyn. “And then I will explain everything.”

“Who's doing the music?” asked Marie, a smile beaming from her face.

“Ehh,” Roslyn said. “Well...”

“I see that your affinity for candles has not dimmed,” came a voice from the mess hall's entrance.

Everyone in the room went quiet as they saw Deacon Trietta standing at the entrance. She entered the room, face as grim as ever, and each step she took sounded as though it was the heartbeat of some mythical beast.

Roslyn didn't say anything as the Deacon stepped up to her, close enough to feel her breath. The other sisters in the room tensed, with Chalice looking as though she was going to bolt for the door.

“I like it,” Deacon Trietta said eventually. “While we can't burn a pyre to The Emperor on this ship we can at least let him know that a flame burns within us all.”

“That's what I was thinking,” Roslyn said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I'm sorry?” Deacon Tritetta spat.

“Uh your grace,” she said. “We are of course extremely grateful that you would lend us your talents for tonight.”

Roslyn glanced towards the group of sisters and watch their faces twist in surprise as they noticed that the Deacon was carrying an instrument.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, the flattery diffusing her aggression. “I walk where The Emperor most needs me.”

“Alright your grace,” Roslyn said, walking around her as though she were surrounded by a force field. “If you'd just like to take your place over here. We want the acoustics of the room to be good so we can all hear your music.”

Deacon Trietta nodded, and took her seat at the end of the mess hall. She slung the strap of the stringed instrument over her shoulder and began to tune it. “Just let me know when you are ready sister.”

“Thank you your grace,” Roslyn said, before scuttling back to the sisters on the other side. “Alright, since there's only a few of us at the moment I think we should move the chairs closer to the deacon.”

“You got Deacon Trietta to do the music?” Hornigold said in a whisper-shout as she got to her feet.

“Look,” Roslyn said. “Nobody knows better than me that she can be a pain in the nether regions but, trust me, she is an amazing quarz-lute player.”

“Why didn't you just ask Brunhilde?” said Druga. “She plays.”

“Yes, she plays,” said Roslyn, breathing out a sigh. “She plays terribly.”

The other sisters began to mutter and shake their heads.

“Look, this is the first event I've organised since I joined the order. I just want to make sure that everything is as perfect as it can be,” she said, forming the best smile she could. “Come on, it'll be fun.”

The sisters all sighed, but they didn't argue, grabbing their chairs, they dragged them over towards Deacon Trietta.

“Alright,” Roslyn said, when everyone was in place. “Two, four, six,” she said, as she counted up the sisters in the room. “Alright, we have equal numbers. Good.”

“So how is this supposed to work?” asked Druga.

“Well, back on Carnford we would normally be doing this with the men but...” Roslyn smiled and pointed to the group. “Anyone who has been to a dance before raise their hands.”

Of all the people in the room, only Deacon Trietta raised her hand.

Roslyn sighed again. “Okay, well, you'll need to get into pairs first.”

The group carried on looking confused.

“Perhaps it would be better if I demonstrated,” she said, holding out a hand. “Sister Chalice, may I?”

Chalice looked around the room in a panic.

“Come on, don't be shy,” Roslyn said in an encouraging voice.

Chalice nervously got to her feet, but began to relax once Roslyn had taken her by both hands.

“Deacon, if you would?” Roslyn said.

Deacon Trietta's face still glared in the way it always did, but she put her fingers to the strings and began to play. Roslyn recognised the song. _His Magnificent's Voice_. It wasn't the kind of thing they'd play at Carnford dances, but she had to make do.

“Now follow my movements,” Roslyn said to Chalice. “Follow the beat of the music. Move your feet with it, side to side.”

Chalice began to sway with Roslyn, but her feet were as clumsy as she had expected. Still, Roslyn could tell from her face that she was starting to enjoy it.

“Well?” said Roslyn to the rest of the group. “It's as simple as that. Now you just have to get up here and do it yourselves.”

And so a group of nervous and giggling sisters paired up and began to move their feet to Deacon Trietta's overly pious music. As ridiculous as the whole thing looked, it couldn't help but draw attention, and soon, after a few further songs, the number of sisters dancing had been tippled.

Sisters laughed and gossiped, and praised the Emperor for another year of life. As Roslyn scanned the room she wondered that, if she squinted, could she pretend she was back on Carnford?

As they danced, she noticed that Chalice had been incrementally pulling her closer, and so, without argument, she put a hand around her waist.

“I didn't think you were into music your grace,” someone said to Trietta from behind her, and Roslyn craned her neck just slightly to see who it was.

Synthecia was talking to the Deacon.

“Music is one of the great gifts that his radiance The Emperor has given us,” Deacon Trietta said as she carried on playing. “It is one of the many things that bring us closer to him. Of course it is one of my interests.”

“I'm just a bit surprised your grace,” Synthecia said, somewhat flippantly. “Don't you always tell us that The Emperor doesn't want us to enjoy ourselves?”

“I can see that you still haven't got that absurd hair corrected,” Deacon Trietta said, in a surprisingly casual manner. “Nor got those perverse tattoos removed.”

“Yeah, well, you see the thing is, your grace, I said a prayer to The Emperor about that.” Syncthecia said.

Roslyn almost laughed at how she seemed to revel in winding the Deacon up.

“I asked him that if he wanted me to change my hair and get rid of my ink then he only needed to give me a sign.” Syncthecia then shrugged. “But he didn't get back to me. What can you do, eh Deacon?”

Deacon Trietta huffed, but she didn't say anything.

“Hey,” Roslyn said, calling over to her. “I thought you said this whole thing was just for losers like me?”

Synthecia folded her arms. “I did. It is. I just, uhhh...”

Suddenly Senna stepped forward and put a hand on Synthecia's shoulder. “I asked her,” she said. “I thought it might be fun.”

Synthecia grimaced, but she didn't argue.

Roslyn laughed. “Well then, get up here.”

The sisters carried on dancing, and Roslyn noticed that Chalice pulled her in for a hug.

“Thank you for doing this,” Chalice said. “I feel as though, you know, in time, I can start to feel like a sister again.”

“It's okay,” Roslyn said softly. “It's okay, really, you don't owe me anything.”

“I know,” Chalice said, sniffing. “I'm just... yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand set down on Chalice's shoulder. Roslyn turned, it was Sister Superior Augusta.

“Sister Chalice,” she said, with a smile. “Sorry to intrude but, may I ask Sister Roslyn for the honour of a dance?”

Chalice let go of Roslyn awkwardly. “Oh, yes, of course Sister Superior.”

Augusta patted her hand on Chalice's shoulder. “I appreciate it Sister Chalice. You're looking well by the way. That's good to see.”

Chalice paused a moment, gave a shy smile, nodded, then shuffled her way off the dance floor.

“Incredible,” Augusta said, staring after her. “You really have made a difference.”

However, Roslyn stood with her arms folded. While she had appreciated the offer to dance from Augusta, she still had never really got the measure of where the Sister Superior's true allegiances lay.

“It's just a dance Sister Roslyn,” she said. “I'm not going to order you to do it if you don't want to.”

Roslyn huffed and took her by the hands. As Deacon Trietta's next song started, she noticed that Augusta immediately took the initiative, taking a step forward and a step back. She knew how to dance, and not just dance, but dance well.

Roslyn matched her step for step. “Where did you learn to do that?” asked Roslyn.

“Come now, I can't give away all my secrets,” Augusta said smirking.

Roslyn looked to the ground in frustration.

“I'm sorry,” Augusta said. “I know it hasn't been easy dealing with me as your Sister Superior. I know I can come across hot one day and cold the other. It's not my intent to confuse you.”

“I don't think your intent matters,” Roslyn said, detecting the sincerity of Augusta's words. “But I know you mean well.”

“I really do,” said Augusta, stepping once forwards and twice back. “Truth be told I don't even know if I'm cut out for this command.”

Roslyn wasn't sure what she realised first, that Augusta was really good at dancing, or that she had the same kind of doubts that Roslyn had.

“We don't choose the fate The Emperor hands us I suppose,” Augusta said. “I'm just dealing with the hand I was dealt.”

Roslyn didn't say anything, but she nodded, and smiled, and looked Augusta in the eye.

Augusta stayed silent too, and they danced together, just enjoying the music and being in each other's company. For that moment, on the dance floor, they were equals.

Once they had danced themselves out of breath, Roslyn pulled Augusta over to one side of the dance-floor. She glanced over to Deacon Trietta, who was obscured by a group of dancing sisters that included Synthecia and Senna grinding against each other.

“Close your eyes,” Roslyn said.

“What?” Augusta laughed.

Roslyn glanced back in the Deacon's direction again nervously. “Just close your eyes and open your mouth,” she repeated.

“Alright,” Augusta said coyly, and she did as she was told.

Quickly Roslyn retrieved a piece of meat from the tin foil package under her vestments. Carefully, she held it between her fingers and, on tiptoe, placed it into Augusta's mouth.

Augusta closed her mouth and chewed. A smile spread across her face. “What is this?” she asked.

Roslyn didn't say anything.

Augusta opened her eyes and smiled at Roslyn. “What was that?”

“It was an Emperor's Day gift,” Roslyn said innocently.

Augusta licked her lips, savouring the taste. “Sister Roslyn, are you dealing in contraband?”

Roslyn swallowed, and for a moment dread developed in the pit of her stomach. She had known the risk. Augusta could have her dead to rights if she decided to punish her for handling an unauthorised substance.

“Did you see me dealing in contraband?” Roslyn asked.

Augusta blinked. “Well, no, I had my eyes closed.”

Roslyn held out her hands. “Well,” she said. “There you go. Nothing to do with me. Would you believe that it was actually The Emperor himself who appeared and held it out for you.”

For a second Augusta didn't respond, and Roslyn worried that she had made a terrible mistake, but then Augusta burst out laughing.

“Well,” she said, recovering. “Aren't you making something of yourself Sister Roslyn?”

“Happy Emperor's Day Sister Superior,” Roslyn said.

“Happy Emperor's Day Sister Roslyn,” Augusta replied.

“Augusta,” came a shout from the other side of the mess hall. One of the other Sister Superiors, in full power armour, was waving to her. “Palatine wants to see us!”

Augusta sighed and rolled her eyes, then she put both hands on Roslyn's arms. “Got to go,” she said.

“Duty calls?” Roslyn said.

Augusta nodded, and made her way to leave.

****

Eventually interest in the dance subsided, and most sisters left to carry on with their own affairs, but Deacon Trietta still played, and while they were too tired to dance, Roslyn and the remaining still sat, splayed out on the floor or chairs, listening to the music and chatting.

“This is nice,” Chalice said, and lay her head on Roslyn's shoulder. For a moment Roslyn thought that Druga was going to show some kind of objection, but instead she just carried on chatting to Touro, who had just joined them.

Sythecia and Senna leaned back with their arms around each other. If Deacon Trietta found this alarming, she didn't show it. Roslyn had to wonder how strict the Deacon really was, or if she just has a taste for chastising people.

“Hey your grace!” Sythecia shouted at her. “Don't you know any songs that aren't about The Emperor?”

Deacon Trietta stopped playing then and glared at her. “I'm sorry Sister Synthecia, but do you have a problem with me singing the praises of our most holy saviour?”

“Oh, not at all your grace,” Synthecia said with a smile. “But I'm sure in his benevolence he can spare a few moments for you to sing about literally anything else.”

The Deacon just carried on glaring at her.

“What I think Sister Synthecia is trying to say, your grace,” interjected Roslyn. “Is that the Imperium's greatest strength is it's diversity. The Adepta Sororitas is just one of many branches, and even then no two sisters are the same. We each have a variety of strengths. We just want to see how far your talent with the quarz-lute extends.”

“Flattery is the tactic of traitors and heretics Sister Roslyn,” Deacon Trietta said, scolding her.

Roslyn smiled nervously.

“But as it is Emperor's Day, I will forgive you an infraction just this once,” Deacon Trietta said. Then she sighed, and her aggressive exterior softened, just a touch. “Very well, here is a song they used to play on Usuun, long before I joined the priesthood. It is a about a man called Brutus, who was a hermit who lived in the dale. I don't know how much of this story is true, but the elders used to insist they knew him. ”

The sisters sat there in silence, the chatting had stopped, and they all seemed interested in this unusual display of authenticity by the Deacon.

“He lived though several Imperial tithes, and despite being able bodied, he was never drafted into the Imperial Guard. This is the song they used to sing about him.”

_He walked between the trees, they said, foraging,_

_Living off the birds and bees, him and me,_

_Off we went to join the war, yet he remained,_

_In the dale he was, never to leave,_

_Saw young men leave, one after the other,_

_But Brutus stayed to watch the sun rise_

_Winter and summer._

_Stroll Brutus, walk and fall Brutus,_

_you saw it all Brutus,_

_In the dale._

_In the dale,_

_In the dale,_

_Still in the dale_

_Still in the dale,_

The type of music that Trietta was playing felt like night and day from the religious songs she had been playing. Roslyn found herself tapping her feet, and as she glanced to her side, she noticed the other sisters were tapping their hands.

Suddenly, Synthecia started clapping to the beat, quickly joined by Senna. Soon, without thinking, Roslyn too found herself clapping, and before long the entire group of sisters were singing along.

_In the dale!_

_In the dale!_

_Emperor's blessing to you Brutus!_

_Still in the dale!_

There were smiles on everyone's faces once the song had finished, and Roslyn gave herself a silent congratulation for deciding to take a risk on asking Trietta to do the music.

“Another!” shouted Synthecia.

However, Trietta was now packing up her instrument. “I think that's about enough frivolity for today,” she said. “Besides,” you sisters need to start getting this room back in order for the evening meal.

Roslyn sighed. “I suppose she's ri...”

Suddenly the entire conversation was cut off by blaring klaxons, and the entire room was drenched in read light.

“All Sisters to deployment zones. Combat Ready,” blared a mechanical sounding voice from concealed speakers. “All Sisters to deployment zones. Combat Ready.”

Roslyn turned to the other sisters. Chalice's face looked as though it had been drained of blood.

“What is it?” Roslyn said.

It was Druga who answered her. “We're being deployed,” Druga said. “Come on, they'll want us armed and kitted up as quickly as possible.” Then she smiled. “Some Emperor's Day this is turning out to be.”


	10. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Ten

By Jack Harvey

Roslyn's mind was in a panic. She had gotten so used to the routine on the ship that she had almost forgotten that seeing combat was a certainty for her life as a Battle Sister. Adding to that was the fact that she had spent all her time focusing on the Emperor's Day dance she didn't even begin to understand how to emotionally face what was coming.

Mindlessly she followed the rest of the sisters from her squad back to the dorm room, where they quickly got changed out of their vestments and into their under-armour. As she was putting the vestments away, she quickly considered what she would do with the juice and what was left of Touro's meat.

“Don't forget your PPB!” Druga shouted at her suddenly.

Roslyn had no idea what she was talking about.

“Look new meat,” Druga said. “Word to the wise, don't forget you're portable prayer book.” Druga suddenly reached into Roslyn's lockbox and pulled out a small book.

Roslyn recognised it of course. She had flipped through it when unpacking on her first day, but she she paid it no mind, since she knew all the prayers within by heart.

“They'll give you some real drak if you don't have it with you when we see combat,” Druga said. “Trust me.”

Roslyn grabbed the book and bundled it under her shoulder.

The rest unfolded so quickly Roslyn barely registered it. The sisters proceeded to enter their power armour. She felt the suit whirr to life and as the servos pumped her movement doubled in speed.

Then they were at the armoury. Roslyn collected her boltgun, checked for any unspent rounds, loaded a magazine, made sure the safety was on. She grabbed her requisite number of additional rounds, plus two frag grenades, and two krak grenades, and locked up her backpack, before securing the bulky unit to the back of her armour.

Then they were at the medical wing. She was handed bandages, painkillers, and syringes containing combat stimulants. Brunhild was barking something at her, but she struggled to pay attention.

Next thing Roslyn knew she was running into the hanger, adrenalin now fully pumping round her body. Sister Superior Augusta was beckoning frantically.

“Come on, let's go, lets go!” she shouted.

The entire massive room was filled with Battle Sisters, all separated into their squads and specialities. Retributors checked their heavy weapons, while the revered Seraphim saw to the delicate mechanisms of their jump-packs.

On the other side of the hanger Roslyn could see Rhino armoured transports being fuelled up by Callisa's servitors and attached to the undercarriage of landing shuttles.

“Alright,” screamed Palatine Zennica, bringing Roslyn's mind back to attention, and the entire hanger fell silent.

The Palatine walked the length of the stage, which still hasn't been disassembled from the ceremony earlier.

“I'm sure you were all enjoying the Emperor's Day festivities, but unfortunately we don't get to choose the hour of our service,” Zennica said.

She nodded, and another sister pressed a button on a nearby console. Behind her a projection of a planet appeared floating in the the air.

“This is the hive world of Conulor V,” Zennica said. “Fifteen hours ago our Astropaths picked up a distress call. They say they are under attack by a moderate force of greenskins.”

Roslyn swallowed nervously. She had never heard of such creatures.

As if Zennica had read her mind the Palatine continued. “I'm sure most of you know of attacks on such worlds as Armageddon, Volistad and others, but for those of you who are new here, greenskins are a vile race of xenos that live for nothing but violence and combat. They are barbaric brutish creatures of thick muscle and bone.”

Roslyn tried not to picture the kind of creature from nightmare that Zennica was describing.

“The creatures lack intelligence, but they make up for it with determination and sheer numbers. They are not to be underestimated, but if we stay true to the Emperor, we will surely overcome them.”

Zennica nodded to the other sister again, who punched another button on the console. The projection now drew closer to the planet, with a large spire, that Roslyn assumed had to be some form of city, protruded out of it.

“The message was at least one month old, so we do not know how the greenskin attack has developed, or if they have received aid from any other forces, but given the absence of other broadcasts we'll have to assume the worst. Ultimately, it is part of our obligation to the Emperor to investigate and answer any call for help, but since the tactical situation is unclear, we'll be going in hot.”

The projection of the planet then tilted. A representation of the Victorium came into view.

“If the greenskins happen to have sufficient orbital support, then we'll need to take them by surprise. We'll be deploying straight from leaving the warp. A small expeditionary force will be launched and head straight for Hive Excavor. It's the capital of Conulor V, and likely the best point to rendezvous. Once landed, the expedition will surmise the situation with any Imperial commander available on site and then report back to the Victorium.”

“Launching straight from leaving the warp?” whispered Druga. “What is she talking about? That's suicidal.”

“Silence while the Palatine is talking!” Augusta shouted back at them.

“The expeditionary force will be made up of six squads, two per landing shuttle,” Zennica said. “The following squads will make up the expeditionary force:”

Roslyn closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to The Emperor for mercy. She didn't know the first thing about deployment, but Druga's words hadn't made it sound inspiring.

“Retributor squad Louisa,” read Zennica. “You're with Battle squad Taurus.”

As Roslyn heard each of the squad leader names, she prayed theirs would not get called.

“Retributor squad Sigmat, you're with Battle Squad Pollyanna.”

Roslyn gulped, only two more to be called.

“Retributor squad Ericur...”

She breathed deeply.

“You're with Battle Squad Augusta.”

The blood then drained from Roslyn's face.

The worst had happened. She was going to war, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

“Alright,” said Zennica, wrapping things up. “Sisters, to your stations. The rest of you, I want you all combat ready and prepared to deploy at a moments notice.” Then she leaned back and bellowed. “In the Emperors name!”

“In the Emperors name,” cheered the entire hanger.

All but Roslyn.

Roslyn then turned to Druga, looking for some sort of affirmation.

Druga simply shrugged carelessly. “It might not be that bad.”

****

As the shuttle rocked back and forth violently, Roslyn shut her eyes, and prayed.

“Most powerful and glorious Emperor,” she said, her voice trembling with the vibrations. “Who commands the winds and eddies of the galaxy, we miserable ones are adrift in peril. We cry unto thee for help. Save us, or we will perish.”

Synthecia, and many of the other sisters, seemed unconcerned. “Listen, this is going to be a walk in the park,” she said. “It was a little before my time, but we thrashed them on Volistad, so we can thrash them here.”

“I keep forgetting your homeworld saw a greenskin invasion,” said Hornigold, who was sitting opposite Roslyn.

“Yeah,” Synthecia said, laughing. “No thanks to my father. You know he nearly got himself executed by an Imperial Commissar for insubordination?”

Roslyn's eyes, peeked open. She glanced over to Sister Superior Augusta, who had her eyes closed, and was saying her own prayers. Roslyn could tell though, from the movement of her lips, that she was saying a litany of battle.

She then saw Chalice sitting with the Retributors, at the far end of the shuttle. She looked surprisingly relaxed. Roslyn then looked up out of the view-port above her, only to see the red and purple swirling energies of the warp.

“Here it comes,” said Druga.

Suddenly the whole shuttle went silent, then vibrated as though it had been shot out of the end of a cannon. Roslyn felt ripples as though her insides were going to be liquefied and her eyes were going to drop out of her skull.

Then the vibrations stopped, and Roslyn could see from the view port the star spotted sight of a normal sky. They had returned to the material universe.

The entire cabin of sisters threw up their hands and cheered. Roslyn could barely believe how casually they were taking it.

“Hey,” said the scarred Sister Superior Ericur of the Retributor squad, popping a cigar into her mouth. “Light me up.”

It was Sister Ironside she was talking to, who was sitting opposite her. “That's a waste of flamer fuel Sister Superior,” she said.

“Don't make me order you Sister Ironside,” she said with a smile.

With a sigh, Ironside reached above her for the bulky heavy flamer. She pressed into the side of it and lit the igniting flame. Then she leaned forward and held it to Ericur's cigar.

“Hey,” said Hornigold, her black hair swaying from one side to the other as the shuttle rocked. “Are you okay Sister Roslyn? You look pale.”

Roslyn was sweating now, but she felt cold. Her teeth were chattering together. “I'm just... your first time wasn't like this?”

Hornigold smiled. “Yeah, it probably was. So long ago now though I can't remember.”

“Sister Roslyn,” said Augusta, leaning forward. “You are with a team of experienced Battle Sisters who know what they're doing. You've been trained in everything you need to know. Follow your orders, and the Emperor will see to the rest.”

Roslyn nodded, and Augusta smiled.

“Hive Excavor do you copy?” came a faint voice from the end of the cabin. Roslyn realised it was the pilot. “This is shuttle craft Screaming Fury of the Order of the Weeping Martyr. We are here to offer assistance to your defences, request landing co-ordinates. Do you copy?”

Roslyn looked up, and could now see that the blackness of space had slowly been turning to the blue of an atmospheric sky. Suddenly the crack of an explosion could be heard and the shuttle shook tremendously. She nearly felt her stomach drop out of herself. Despite this, a few sisters cheered, and laughed.

“We have enemy contact,” the pilot said. “Hive Excavor, do you copy?”

Roslyn glanced right, and saw Druga pull out her boltgun and check the magazine. She then recited the Litany of Loading. “Machine Spirit, accept my gift, Swallow the light, and spit out death.”

The sisters were all praying now, in one form or another. Even Synthecia, who was just finishing the Litany of War. “Let me become the storm that blasts the enemy from your sight.”

She and Senna held their armoured gauntlets together.

However, Roslyn was too focussed on listening to the pilot to pray.

“Hive Excavor, we're picking up heavy enemy forces in the vicinity,” they said. “We require an alternative approach. Do you copy?”

Suddenly, another explosion rocked the shuttle, much louder than before, and Roslyn heard the sound of tearing metal. There were no laughs. Then it felt as though the floor had fell out from under her. Then she blacked out.

****

When Roslyn came to she was only aware of an intense ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes, but her vision was blurred. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, in an effort to focus herself.

The next thing she became aware of was the repetitive sound of thumping. It took her a few moments for her to realise that it was the rat-tat-tat of a heavy bolter being fired.

With that realisation Roslyn shook herself to attention. Her head was banging, but she knew she couldn't let that slow her down. She looked at her surroundings. The cabin of the shuttle barely resembled itself, with vast parts of it blown off or bent into wrong angles. Roslyn was surrounded by sisters, but none of them were responding. She looked ahead to where Sister Hornigold was sitting.

That was when Roslyn began to take it in.

Hornigold was still strapped into her seat, two great supports were now impaled into her chest. They must have gone at such great force to pierce the power armour. Hornigold herself must have died quickly, for there was no fear or pain on her face. She simply looked as though she was asleep.

Roslyn's lip trembled. She had never seen a dead body before. Even when performing funerals the corpse had already been committed to a coffin by the time Roslyn came into contact with it. Now she was face to face with not only a brutal death, but one of someone she had called a friend.

A tear ran down Roslyn's cheek, surprising her. She didn't feel like crying. The bolter fire from outside was still ongoing, and all Roslyn knew was that she had to get out of the shuttle. With barely a moment's thought she slammed her fist onto the latch of her buckle and fell from the seat.

Roslyn got up from the unsteady floor. Grabbed her backpack and bolter, and climbed her way out of the emergency side door, which appeared to be wide open.

Roslyn's head was still spinning as she set food on stable ground. She looked around. The land was dusty and dry, but a yellow looking grass grew from it. The plain was flat, affording her an easy view of her surroundings.

Before she could take it all in, however, she found the source of the bolter fire. It was Sister Chalice, frantically firing the heavy weapon in all directions, though there were no enemies in sight.

Roslyn ran over to her.

“Told...told...told them this would be it!” Chalice shouted over the gunfire hysterically. “Shouldn't have come! Shouldn't have come!”

“Sister Chalice!” Roslyn shouted over to her.

“My fault,” Chalice continued, ignoring her. “It's happening again! It's happening again!”

Before Roslyn could get to her, a large figure appeared from her left, lunged forwards and quickly grabbed the heavy bolter. It was Sister Ironheart.

“Sister Chalice!” she shouted. “Stop! Stop!”

The gunfire ended, and breathing heavily, Chalice began to calm down.

“There's no enemy contact Chalice!” Ironheart shouted. “You're only wasting ammo.”

“It's my fault!” Chalice shouted back to her. “They should have made me Repentia! I wanted that! I wanted it!” she babbled.

Roslyn carefully put a hand on Chalice's shoulder pauldron. “Chalice” she said softly. “It's alright. It's alright.”

Chalice's mania seemed to stop the moment she saw Roslyn. “Sister Roslyn,” she said. “Oh you're alive! I thought...”

“I know,” Roslyn said, before turning to Ironheart. “What happened?”

“We got shot down,” came a gasp to her left, and Roslyn turned. It was Sisters Synthecia and Senna.

“I can see that,” Roslyn said. “But surely...”

Before they could continue, a blood curdling wail came from the distance. Roslyn had never heard the wail before, but she could tell it wasn't human.

“WAAAAAAAGH!”

Roslyn turned, and could see a crowd of creatures running towards them. There must have been twenty of the brutes, and as they got closer Roslyn could make out their features, which got ever more terrifying the closer they got. The creatures had green skin, massive jaws that hung almost over their chests, and within those jaws contained tusk-like teeth. They were bigger than any human she had ever seen.

“Xenos contact!” shouted Ironheart, as she slung up her own heavy bolter and began firing at their attackers. The rest of the sisters proceeded to do the same.

Roslyn clicked off her safety, aimed and began firing. Like the time she was at the range the vibration of each shot nearly shook her teeth out, but she was too afraid to even notice.

Bolter rounds zipped across the plain like miniature comets, filling Roslyn's vision with pockmarks of burning yellow. Greenskins began to fall, and so began returning fire themselves.

Roslyn frantically carried on shooting, not thinking straight enough to consider breaking for cover. An enemy round hit her in the shoulder, and while the power armour soaked the blow, she felt herself bounce around on the inside from the impact.

Their blanket fire had taken care of at least half of the greenskins, but their compatriots seemed unconcerned for the welfare of the fallen, and charged forwards regardless.

Roslyn released her bolter's magazine, and it dropped to the ground. Quickly she retrieved another from a side pouch and slammed it into the weapon.

The nearest greenskin was only about two meters away, and she raised the boltgun, took aim.

*Click*

Just as Roslyn realised she hadn't checked for unspent rounds, the nearest greenskin pounced upon her.

Too late to react, Roslyn threw up her hands. The creature landed on top of her, knocking the both of them to the ground. Roslyn felt an almighty thump, as the huge weight of the power armour collided with the dirt.

She shook herself, determined not to lose her orientation. She could see the xeno up close, and if it introduced itself as a demon from the deepest depths of the warp, she would have believed it.

The great maw of the creature was still the most clearest thing, but beyond that Roslyn could see tiny eyes squashed above a flat nose and an overbearing brow. Their eyes flitted around manically, as the jaw spread into the parody of a smile. The greenskin held up it's axe, ready to bring it down upon her.

Roslyn threw up a hand to block it, and the blade ended up hitting her gauntleted palm. Incredibly, the armour held, and she remained uninjured, but even with the added strength of the power armour, the creature was overpowering her. It pushed down on the axe, trying to dislodge it from Roslyn's grip and towards her face.

Instinctively Roslyn raised her free hand and punched the greenskin in the face with all her might. It was like hitting a stone wall, but the creature clearly could feel pain. It grimaced. Giving Roslyn time to go for another punch, this one harder, more forceful, and one of the creature's great tusks almost cracked loose.

Tired of the game, the greenskin yanked the axe from her grip, and battered her arms away from it. Struggling to react, Roslyn flailed, as the creature pulled the axe back for another blow.

Roslyn's vision was then filled by a burning light, and she had to close her eyes. The heat spread across her face, and she tried to turn away as she felt a searing pain on her cheek.

The next thing Roslyn knew, she was looking up at the still smouldering remains of the greenskin. The smell was repulsive, and Roslyn immediately felt sick.

She pushed the corpse aside, most of it crumbling to pieces as she did. Then she stood, leaned over and emptied the contents of her stomach to the ground.

Once she had recovered, she stood back up and surveyed the area. All the greenskins appeared dead, and beside her stood Chalice, a heavy flamer was held in her hands, the weapon still glowing red from the heat.

“Sister Chalice,” Roslyn said, breathing heavily. “Thank you.”

Chalice nodded.

Roslyn then suddenly became aware of the pain on her cheek. “Ow!” she cried, holding up a hand to it.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Chalice said. “I think you got a little too close to the flame.”

“It's fine,” Roslyn lied, as in reality she wanted to scold Chalice for her carelessness, but there was no time for petty arguments. Roslyn quickly retrieved a medical patch from a pouch on her belt, and pressed it over the tender flesh.

As she did, she watched as Senna was stabbing the final attacker to death. She wielded a knife in each hand, and blood was splattered up her gauntlets.

“Eat drek ork!” Synthecia said, spitting on one of the deceased creature. “We showed you at Volistad and we're going to show you here!”

“I thought they were greenskins,” Roslyn said, securing the patch and trying to make small talk. Anything to take her mind off the situation.

“The only thing green here, is you,” Synthecia shot at her. “Greenskin is just a nickname new meat.”

“Syn,” said Senna getting her attention. “Just don't.”

Tired of bickering, Roslyn instead scanned the area. To their immediate north was the massive hive city. It was unlike anything Roslyn had ever seen before. No wonder it hadn't registered when she first got out of the shuttle. It must have stretched the entire horizon, and it's largest spire reached high into the firmament.

There was no time to take in the sights, however, as their plight became immediately apparent. Even from that distance they could see the massive army of orks that was surrounding it's borders. A massive green hoard was firing potshots back and forth at what looked like a defensive wall, and they were backed up by massive looking war machines with guns bigger than Roslyn could have imagined.

The most impressive of these was approaching from the north end. Roslyn didn't know what to call it, but it must have been the size of a small city itself. The giant ork war machine looked like an enormous cone, with the grotesque visage of an ork's head at it's top. It bristled with weapons, and looked as though it had been cobbled together out of anything and everything.

Closer to them, though, seemed to be another one of these war machines. This one, however, was a smouldering ruin. Smoke and fire spread forth from what remained of it, and whatever use it once was had been denied from the ork hoard.

What little heart Roslyn could draw from the seeming victory was scant. They were alone, and there was no sign of the other shuttles, nor Imperial forces of any kind to aid them.

“Hey!” came a call from the shuttle. “A little help here!”

The sisters then looked at each other and realised that their own crash may still have survivors.

****

The shout had come from Druga, who miraculously had survived, but had got stuck in her belt strap. Next to her, a drowsy but conscious Maria also lived.

The Retibutors hadn't been so lucky, as it appeared Ironheart and Chalice were the only survivors.

Finally, Roslyn got to Augusta. Her heart first skipped a beat when there was no response from her Sister Superior, but as she checked Augusta's vitals, it appeared she still lived.

“Looks as though she's concussed,” Ironheart said once they had freed her from the wreck. “Who knows how badly though. Could take her days to wake up, if ever.”

Roslyn looked down at Augusta. She couldn't bare the thought of losing another friend, even one as confounding as her.

“Okay,” Roslyn said. “We'll have to carry her.”

Ironheart laughed. “Carry her where?”

“Wherever you order us to,” Roslyn said.

“Orders,” Ironheart said, surprised. She pointed at herself. “Me? I'm just a weapons instructor. I'm not qualified to take command.”

“But if not you,” Roslyn said. “Then who?”

Synthecia spoke up then. “I say we stay here. Command is bound to have heard about us going down. They're bound to send aid once they don't hear back.”

“Comms are nothing but static,” Ironheart said. “No way of responding even if they call out to us.”

Roslyn turned. “Plus, don't you think those things will have the same idea? We just took out a squad of them and barely survived. Who do you think is likely to send support first?”

“Oh,” Synthecia said. “And I suppose you have a better idea do you? New meat?”

Roslyn didn't want to start another argument. She stared out towards the hive city to the north. The battle still raged on.

“We need to group up with the rest of the Imperial forces,” she said, pointing to the city.

“Are you crazy?” Synthecia said. “They're on the other side of an army. How are we supposed to get into the hive through that?”

Roslyn looked back again, and thought. She squinted as she scanned the distance. At the cities borders she could see long pipes stretching out. Some ended in vents, others seemed to have been blasted open or crumbled. One though, seemed to stretch out far to the east.

“There,” Roslyn said. “Back on Carnford we had massive pipes that used to carry the run off after we drained out farms. I'd guarantee the hive must have something similar. If we can get to it, it might take us right into the city, bypassing the army.

“That's nonsense,” Synthecia argued. “Don't you think if there was a way to sneak into the city the orks would have figured it out by now?”

“Well it beats standing around here waiting to die!” Roslyn shouted.

Synthecia cockily walked up to her and sneered. “Frag your plan.”

Roslyn couldn't help herself. She had watched friends die, faced close combat with a hostile alien, and nearly had her face burned off. She deserved better than to deal with a petty frag-head like her.

Roslyn grabbed Synthecia by the collar of her power armour and slammed her gauntlet into the woman's face.

As Synthecia fell back, nose and lip now a bloody mess, Senna jumped forward, weapon raised and shoved it into Roslyn's face.

“Oh,” Roslyn said aggressively. “You're going to shoot me now Senna? Well get in line.” Roslyn pointed towards the massed army at the hive's gates. “Because there's about a billion greenskins who already have a bullet with my name on and I think they have a bigger grievance than you do.”

Senna gritted her teeth. “Touch her again and I won't hesitate,” she said.

“It's academic right now anyway,” Roslyn said, before spitting out the gunky residue of her earlier vomit. “You can stay here if you like, but I'm heading for those pipes. Something tells me we'll last longer if we keep moving.”

At that, Roslyn squatted down, and took hold of Augusta's arms. She ripped off the fabric sash that denoted her station as a Sister Superior and wrapped it tightly around Augusta's hands. Roslyn then looped these around her own neck, so that Augusta clung to her back. Thanks to the power armour, carrying her felt like nothing at all. To finish, she retrieved Augusta's mighty chainsword, and secured it beneath her backpack.

“I'm not going to lie Syn,” Druga said diplomatically. “But Roslyn's plan sounds like the best we've got.”

Synthecia had a hand to her face now, as blood ran over her gauntlet.

“I'm with Druga,” said Marie. “Better than sitting around waiting to be killed right?”

“Well,” said Ironheart. “You heard the woman, let's get moving.” The argument seemed to be settled.

“One more thing,” Roslyn said, reaching to her side. “I suggest we all wear helmets from now on.” She then pointed to the patch on her face. “I'm not letting this happen again.”


	11. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .
> 
> This chapter contains intense and extreme violence.

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

By Jack Harvey

Chapter Eleven

The group walked in silence for several hours. For that duration, Roslyn found that she was surprisingly relaxed. Despite all her fears of the horrible things that might be waiting for her, all she could think about was keeping one foot in front of the other.

While carrying Augusta at first felt like the easiest thing, as time went on Roslyn could feel the servos of her power armour starting to strain and buckle under the weight. She knew they'd have to stop soon, or another sister would have to take on the burden for a while.

Occasionally her attention would be drawn towards the battle at the hive. The entire scene had a curious quality to it, as though it were not really there. Like a mural painted on a cathedral wall.

After another hour the sisters pulled rations from their packs to eat. Roslyn was non too pleased, but unsurprised, to find that the ration bars tasted no different to a dried version of the protein paste they had eaten back on the ship. For a moment she was tempted to dig in to Touro's meat left over from earlier, but thought better of it.

She found herself wondering where Touro and her squad were. She was not one of those that were picked to go down with the advanced party. _What was their view of the situation?_ Roslyn pondered. _Would they be sending out search teams, or holding back?_ Were Roslyn and her small group now treated as missing in action, or presumed dead?

Roslyn glanced ahead. At least she could see that the pipes were getting closer. By her estimation she reckoned if they kept moving they could probably reach them in under a day.

“Any activity on the comms?” Marie asked suddenly. It seemed the silence must have been driving her crazy.

“Still static,” Ironheart said. “I don't know if the greenskins are jamming us, or something was damaged in the crash. Either way, it seems we're stuck to local communication for now.”

Roslyn glanced back at the sisters. They were marching along, but they looked far from confident. Chalice was almost dragging her heavy flamer along the ground in a slump.”

“Sister Chalice,” she said. “Are you holding up there okay?”

“Nhh?” Chalice mumbled, as she straightened back up.

“She's out of it,” said Synthecia callously. “Obsucra will do that to you.”

“She saved my life,” said Roslyn, trying not to focus on the sting of the burn on her cheek. “Isn't that right Sister Chalice?”

“I... uh...” she said. “I just did what I thought was best. Heavy bolter might have hit you so I ran for the flamer instead.” Chalice stopped walking and paused a moment. “I'm sorry about what happened to your face, I'm just...”

Roslyn cut her off, sensing she was about to sink into another self loathing diatribe. “It's only a burn,” Roslyn said. “That ork would have killed me if you hadn't have acted quickly.”

“They probably wouldn't have attacked us at all if she hadn't been shooting off that heavy bolter when we crashed,” Synthecia said.

“Sister Synthecia, sound off!” Roslyn shot, and to her surprise, Synthecia didn't argue.

After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, Marie chimed in again. “Maybe a prayer would lift our spirits?”

“No offence Marie,” said Druga. “But I think the Emperor gave up on us the moment the shuttle came down.”

“Come on,” said Marie. “We're still alive aren't we? He kept us here for a reason.”

Roslyn found herself thinking about the story Brother Meany had told her. About his first time in combat. Roslyn found herself silently agreeing with Marie. This had to be the reason the Emperor had brought her here.

“Marie is right,” Roslyn said. “And if anything, it'll take our minds off the monotony of the walk.”

“I'll start,” said Marie. “Look to your battle gear and it will protect you.”

“We guard it with our lives,” the entire group said in unison.

There was a pause for a moment, before they realised that Marie wanted each sister to read a part of the prayer.

Roslyn went next. “Your armour is your soul,” she recited. “And your soul's dedication it's armour.”

The entire group responded. “The soul of a warrior is the protector of humanity.”

Senna went next. “Honour the craft of death,” she said, simply.

“Only the Emperor is higher in our devotion,” they responded.

Ironheart finished the recital off. “Honour the battle gear of the dead.”

“We ask only to serve,” the group said.

“The Emperor protects,” whispered Chalice.

****

While spirits were not exactly high, the prayers at least kept the sisters focused and their minds away from worry. As they continued on for another couple of hours the flat plain began to develop into more uneven rocky outcroppings. Roslyn could still get a good view of the massive pipes they were heading for, but they were now ascending and descending a little more, and found it rougher underfoot.

“Hold up,” said Marie, pulling off her helmet. “All that praying has gotten my mouth dry. I need a drink.”

“Maybe we should think of taking a break for a bit?” Synthecia said, who was lagging about three meters behind them.

“No,” said Roslyn, still straining under the weight of the unconscious Augusta, aware that time was against them. “If we're going to stop, then It can't be until it gets dark.”

Roslyn found it surprising that the sisters were coming to her as a figure of authority. She didn't figure herself as a proxy Sister Superior. In fact she cared very little if any of them disagreed with her. Roslyn wanted to get Augusta to safety, that was her only priority.

Ironheart was looking to the horizon. “Well, you might not have long to wait. I don't know how long the days are on this planet, but I'd say we won't have more than a few hours of daylight at most.”

“Even so,” Roslyn said. “The more we move, the closer we are to safety.”

Marie laughed. “You know, It's funny that...”

Suddenly their ears rang out at the sound of a deafening crack. Roslyn wasn't sure where it had came from, but she could do little more than watch as blood erupted from Marie's throat.

The sister looked surprised for a moment. She dropped her canteen, and as it hit the ground she put a hand to what was left of her neck. She gurgled, then fell.

“Sister Marie!” screamed Druga, who tried to dive for her, but suddenly another three cracks rang out, and dirt exploded beneath their feet as the bullets fell short of their targets.

“Get down!” shouted Roslyn, as the group ran for cover behind the largest outcropping of stone.

Sister Synthecia however, was far behind. She broke into a run, but stumbled over her power armoured boots, and fell to the ground.

“Syn!” Senna cried out from another rock five meters in front of them. She got to her feet and tried to run back to them.

Roslyn held out her hand, realising Senna wouldn't get there in time. “Wait,” she said. “You cover me. I'll go.” Roslyn then unhooked Augusta's arms from around her neck, and vaulted back into the open.

She swerved as another several cracks rang out. Dirt erupted from the ground beneath her, as the shots flew wide. The other sisters returned fire, but they did not seem to discourage the shooters any.

Eventually, heart beating as though it were about to explode out of her chest, Roslyn reached the fallen Synthecia. She clasped an armoured gauntlet around the sisters collar, and began frantically dragging her across the ground. The weight of the power armour dug a ditch into the dirt, reminding Roslyn, for just a moment, of ploughed fields back on Carnford.

After what felt like an eternity of dragging, Roslyn got Synthecia into cover.

“Syn?” said Senna.

“Are you okay?” asked Roslyn frantically.

“I'm fine,” Synthecia said, frustrated. “It's just one of my leg servos gave out. I think I got a bit of dirt in it.” She yanked the leg back as though she were doing stretches. “Damn!”

“Can you fight?” Roslyn asked.

“I'm good,” said Synthecia.

“Fight?” asked Druga. “How can we fight what we can't even see?”

Roslyn inched her way up the rocks they were leaning on. She glanced over. In front of them just seemed to be a dirt plain, with nothing more than a solitary boulder sitting in the middle of it. However, as she squinted, she could see what looked like a camouflage net spread over the thinnest of ditches, beady eyes stared out of the darkness.

“I see them,” she said. “They're in a concealed ditch about a hundred meters in front of us.”

“They'll mince us before we close the distance,” Senna said.

“I don't think so,” Roslyn said. “Chalice?” she said.

“Y...yeah,” she said nervously.

“I need you to stay with the Sister Superior,” Roslyn said. “If any of those orks get close, toast them.”

“Okay,” she said.

“The rest of us, we're going to bolt for that trench,” Roslyn continued. “Swerve from left to right. Keep them confused. Close the distance.”

“What?” responded Synthecia sceptically.

“Ironheart,” said Roslyn as she turned. “When you get to that boulder, I want you to take cover and lay down a suppressing fire. Can you do that?”

“I can do it like it's parade day,” Ironheart said, as she readied her heavy weapon.

“Senna,” said Roslyn. “I make it if there's only about four of five of them. If you can get into that ditch, do you think you can take them out hand to hand?”

Senna pulled out her pair of combat knives. “I'll make them pay tenfold for taking Sister Marie.”

Roslyn swallowed, trying not to think of the friend that she had got to know so well was now dead on the ground. Instead, she focused on the task at hand. “Alright, you know your roles. Synthecia, Druga, with me, and stay mobile. The more you change direction, the harder it'll be for them to predict your movements.”

Suddenly, Roslyn ran out of cover, not waiting for a go ahead from any of them. She didn't hear any of the sisters following. They could have stayed behind and left her to her fate for all she knew. Roslyn only knew that she had to have faith.

The crack of sniper fire returned, and Roslyn swerved to the right. Suddenly, she realised just how far away the ditch was, and how far they would really have to go. If dragging Synthecia to cover felt like an eternity then closing the distance would feel like infinity.

Bullets collided with the dirt beneath her, giving Roslyn a an up close hint at what fate could befall her in a mere seconds notice. She swerved left, seeing Synthecia cross ways and overtake her. At least she knew she wouldn't be dying alone.

Several more meters and several more bullets colliding mere inches away from her. Suddenly Roslyn was heartened to notice that they had passed the large boulder, and seconds later she heard the thump of Ironheart's heavy bolter. Rounds flew past them and towards the ditch, ripping up dirt and the camo netting.

The sniper fire stopped, and Roslyn knew their enemies must have taken cover. She smiled, as her second wind hit her and she charged ever forward.

Synthecia reached the ditch first, aiming down and firing her boltgun, before diving back as shots fired out in her direction. Roslyn briefly considered the thought of tossing in a frag grenade, but realised fumbling with the thing while moving would make her an attractive target.

Roslyn joined Synthecia at the ditch's western entrance. Quickly she aimed her gun, and realised that a black clothed ork was fumbling with it's weapon while trying to climb over a fallen comrade. Without thinking, Roslyn filled the creature's chest with explosive bolts.

Then she paused, and breathed in, and breathed out. As the dust settled around the creature's corpse, it suddenly dawned on Roslyn that this now, truly, made her a killer.

Then, against all odds, the creature sprang back into life, yanked forwards it's rifle, and aimed it dead at her chest. As Roslyn thought she had breathed her last breath, Senna jumped from the darkness and drove a knife into the ork's throat, and it gurgled in pain, before releasing it's weapon.

“Senna? I didn't see you pass me.” Roslyn asked

“You'll find she's full of surprises,” Synthecia said.

“The xenos have been neutralised,” Senna reported. Putting her bloody knives back in their sheaves.

“No they haven't,” barked Ironheart on the comms, suddenly. “You need to move. Now!”

Turning, Roslyn saw the ground they had just run over burst into the air in an eruption of dirt and metal sheets.

“It was a trap!” shouted Ironheart.

Out of the cavity stepped a terrifying ork war machine. It was tall, with a tubular shaped body assembled from a disparate collection of metal sheets, with two mechanical, piston powered legs keeping it upright. It had two arms. One of which housed a huge metal claw, while in the other whirred a terrifying circular saw.

Ironheart fired at the thing, but the heavy rounds bounced helplessly off it.

“What are we going to do?” asked Druga, who was standing at around the half-way point between the trench and the boulder. “We don't have anything to even scratch that thing.”

“Yes we do,” shouted Ironheart. “Remember your training.”

Roslyn looked down at her belt and saw the two red tinted krak grenades. “Synthecia, Senna, Druga,” she called. “I need you to keep that thing distracted, while I close the distance.”

“What?” asked Druga nervously.

“Just circle the thing and keep firing. Ironheart, try and hit one of those arms. If you're lucky you might be able to loosen one.”

“Got it,” Ironheart responded.

The sisters ran towards the attacking machine, taking potshots, and trying their best to keep it confused.

“Well,” said Roslyn to herself. “Here goes nothing.” She pulled the pin from the grenade, and held if aloft. “In the Emperors name!” she shouted.

Roslyn charged at the machine. She held up the grenade, counted the seconds, gauged the distance, and threw.

The grenade hurtled through the air, hit the shell at the top of the machine, bounced upwards, and exploded harmlessly in the air.

“Damn it!” Roslyn shouted. She looked down at her belt. One more krak grenade remained.

“Roslyn you need to do something quickly,” shouted Druga as she doubled back firing aimlessly at the machine. “It's on the move.”

Before the others could react the machine lunged forwards, far quicker than any of them could have predicted, and grabbed Druga in it's pincer claws.

“Agh,” she cried. “It's got me!”

Roslyn grabbed the other grenade, but now realised that if she threw it at the machine there was a good chance the explosion would take Druga with it.

The sisters stopped firing.

“What do we do?” asked Synthecia quickly. “It's moving too fast to shoot without hitting Druga.”

Roslyn's mind raced. _What could they do? _

“Try and take out the thing's feet,” Ironheart said. “If you can knock out a piston maybe we can topple it.”

Roslyn and the rest of the sisters took aim at the war machine's feet. Explosive bolts flew towards it's thin supports, but despite how shoddy the construction appeared, the pistons were quite resilient, and the bolts bounced off helplessly.

While the sisters fought and panicked, Roslyn watched in horror as the thing pulled Druga towards it. She had dropped her weapon in the struggle. She flailed left and right as it began to draw her closer to the vicious and whirring circular saw.

“Druga,” shouted Roslyn. “Just hold on.”

“I can't get loose,” she said. “It's going to...”

Roslyn was greeted with the sound of buzzing metal on metal. Sparks flew as the saw started to cut into Druga's power armour.

Roslyn shot to the war machine's feet, and switched her boltgun to full auto. She prayed as she pumped bolts towards it's pistons and supports, while she prayed that Durga's armour held.

When Roslyn heard a blood curdling scream, she knew that it had not. Against all better judgement, she watched, as the saw buried itself into Druga's shoulder cavity, blood sprayed out where once there were sparks. The sounds of Druga's agony made Roslyn half throw up inside her mouth, but she swallowed it back down, as she watched the now one armed Druga fall to the ground in a bloody heap.

Roslyn screamed, but now it was a scream of rage. She charged towards the war machine, throwing out all sense of preservation and tackled it's left leg.

The torso turned in surprise, but before it could counter her, Roslyn had pulled out Augusta's chainsword. It's jagged teeth whirred to life, and Roslyn couldn't help but notice it sounded identical to the machine's own saw.

It lunged forward, but the claw failed to grab her, and as it brushed against her backpack, it tilted backwards.

Roslyn's teeth bit into her tongue as she plunged the chainsword between two servos. Spark's flew as she pushed with all her might to cut through the leg. Even with the help of the power armour, she felt her muscles shrieking against her, straining, ready to tear. Just when she thought she couldn't go any further, she squatted herself down, and pretended that she was back at the convent, vaulting gravestones.

Roslyn launched herself up, pushing the ork war machine backwards and toppling it from the ground, as the chainsword cut itself into machinery and tore the leg and itself apart. Once the machine hit the dirt it knocked up an eruption of dust that almost obscured Roslyn's entire vision, and she instinctively grabbed her spare krak grenade, pulling out the pin.

“Spirit of fire,” she said. “Prime this weapon, and blast the foe, from the Emperor's sight.”

Roslyn ducked quickly, as the machine flailed the circular saw in a forward arc, she then placed the grenade onto it's fallen chest, and dived off. Roslyn hugged the dirt, and put her gauntleted hands over her helmet.

She heard the distinct, sharp bang of the grenade, and then heard the sound of igniting gas, as she felt the ground vibrate in a violent eruption.

Once Roslyn had recovered her senses, she got to her feet and removed her helmet, spitting out dust that had somehow got through it and into her mouth.

The machine was now a crackling fire. A tribute of death in the name of the Emperor.

Then Roslyn heard the scream.

She ran over, Synthecia, Senna and Ironheart were then gathered round where Druga had fell. She was alive, and letting everyone know about it, but she was bleeding fast.

Ironheart was holding a hand full of bandages to it tight, but blood was seeping out quickly anyway. “We've tried to stem the bleeding but the wound is just too big.” she said.

Druga was babbling unintelligible nonsense.

“We need to cauterise the wound,” Roslyn shouted.

“No drak genius,” Synthecia shot at her. “What with?”

Suddenly Roslyn barked into her communicator. “Sister Chalice, I need you over here right now.”

Roslyn turned and watched as Chalice bolted across the plain.

Roslyn knew that time was of the essence, and that if they didn't seal the wound quick they'd lose Druga. Chalice's slow approach was agonising to watch.

Eventually, she caught up.

“Chalice,” Roslyn said quickly. “I want you to fire your flamer into the air. Get it going until the muzzle is so hot it's burning red. Okay?”

“O... okay,” Chalice said, nervously. Then she held the heavy flamer up into the air and fired it.

After about ten seconds it was glowing red with heat.

“Right,” Roslyn continued. “Now, on my word, I want to to press that muzzle tight up against Druga's wound.”

“Are you... sure?” Chalice said with doubt.

Druga then pushed against Synthecia. “No, n... n... noo.”

Roslyn held her down. “Druga. I'm sorry,” she said. “We're not losing another Battle Sister today.” Then she turned to Chalice, a mean expression on her face. “Do it!”

Against her better judgement, Chalice crouched down and pressed the side of the flamer into the gaping wound. The smell was hideous, somehow worse than that of charred ork, and the blood curdling, pitiful scream that Druga let out made the experience almost unbearable to witness.

Roslyn closed her eyes, and willed herself not to react.

The cauterisation was over sooner than they had expected, and Druga's head lolled back, taking her into unconsciousness.

The sisters kneeled there in silence for ten minutes. Nobody really knew what to say.

Roslyn spoke first. “We've got to wake her.”

“Wake her?” Synthecia asked. “She's just lost an arm, and had the stump deep fried. She's in no condition to...”

“We've just lost a Battle Sister because we stopped for a drink of water,” Roslyn shot back at her, angry. “We nearly lost two. With one arm we're not going to be able to carry Druga like I can Augusta. If we hang around who knows what else the greenskins will throw at us.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Ironheart.

Roslyn reached into her pack and retrieved her med-supplies. She pulled out a combat stimm's hypodermic needle. “We've got to keep moving. At least until nightfall.”

Ironheart reached out and grabbed Roslyn's gauntlet. “Do you know what those things do? They're for extreme purposes only. Last stands. Suicide charges. Those things will kill a sister more often than not.”

“If we don't do this Druga is already dead,” Roslyn said. “If we give her one of these then she's at least got a fighting chance to get proper treatment.”

“M...maybe we should head back to the shuttle?” Chalice muttered. “Maybe they've sent someone out to find us.”

Roslyn sighed in frustration. “Look, suppose we do get lucky and no further orks come after us, what then? Do we wait for her arm to grow back?”

“I hate to agree with Sister Roslyn,” Synthecia said with a sigh. “But she's right. If we're lugging the Sister Superior around with us we've already got dead weight slowing us down. If we face another ambush we're going to need Druga combat ready. Arm or no.”

Roslyn looked at the rest of the sisters, their eyes flitted around nervously.

“No more arguments then?” Roslyn asked, almost daring somebody else to object. “Good.”

Roslyn pulled off one of her gauntlets, and turned Druga's head. The sister's white hair was now stained red with splatters of blood. Feeling with her bare hand, she located a suitable vein in Druga's neck.

“Although her body is broken,” Roslyn recited. “Although her blood pours away, although her time may end, the immortal Emperor will greet her, and embrace her with his holy aura, if only she remains constant to him, through this time of torment.”

Roslyn stabbed the needle into Druga's neck.

Druga instantaneously shot up, and her eyes almost popped out of her head. They looked manic and bloodshot.

“Druga,” Roslyn said. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah,” she said, with a cough. “I can stand.”

Roslyn helped her to her feet.

“Are you good to go Druga?” she asked. “Need a... help with anything?”

Druga reached down for her boltgun with her remaining arm and held it high.

“When I need a reload, I'll let you know,” she said. It sounded like humour, but from the intense look on Druga's face, it was difficult to tell.

“No arguments?” Roslyn said, as the rest of the sisters looked on at her suspiciously. “Let's get moving then.”


	12. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Twelve

By Jack Harvey

The group didn't have time to bury Sister Marie, so they left her body in a deep ditch obscured by rocks in the hope that any roaming hoards of greenskins would pay no attention to it. Roslyn said a quick prayer for her, and then they went on their way.

Roslyn struggled on forward. The bulk of Augusta's weight above her had become a burden. While she had considered asking one of the other sisters to take a turn carrying Augusta, she already felt guilty about forcing the combat stimms into Druga, and didn't want to alienate them by making further demands.

She glanced back at the others. Druga was struggling behind, weakly putting one foot in front of the other. The other sisters cluttered together, while Synthecia walked the gulf between.

“Can I ask you a question?” Synthecia said, suddenly breaking the silence.

“Go ahead,” Roslyn said with a sigh.

“In private,” Synthecia added.

Roslyn looked back at Druga again, and spoke into her communicator. “Sister Druga. How are you holding up?”

“I'm fine,” panted Druga enthusiastically. “I'm good.”

Her tone of voice was nothing like the Druga Roslyn had gotten to know.

“Just show me where those Emperor damned xenos are,” she said joyously. Her breath however, was heavy, and the bolter she held in her remaining arm flailed at her side.

Roslyn closed her eyes. “Okay,” she said, then turned off her communicator. “Alright Sister Synthecia, comms are off. What would you like to know?”

“Why?” Synthecia asked.

Roslyn glared at her. “I already told you why. We couldn't afford to to wait around...”

“Not Druga,” Synthecia shot. “Why me? Why, when I tripped, did you risk your life to drag me into cover?”

“Why wouldn't I?” Roslyn asked, insulted at the insinuation Synthecia was making.

“Because I've given you nothing but grief from the day you met me. You could have just looked the other way and I'd have been out of your hair.”

“You really think all that matters?” Roslyn shot back in anger. “We're stuck here, in hostile territory, a sister and half down, and you think I care about petty grudges.”

Synthecia paused then, then popped off her helmet. Her tattooed face and shaved head was muddy and bruised. Roslyn could still see the cut left behind from when she had punched her earlier. Her expression was as arrogant as it always was.

“Frag,” she said. “I'm starting to think I maybe misjudged you Sister Roslyn.”

Roslyn lifted off her own helmet then, and scowled at her. “Oh really? Well since we're airing grievances, how about you tell me why? Why me? What did I ever do to you?”

Synthecia smiled slyly. “You know what you did.”

“No,” Roslyn replied. “I really don't. I gave you a sideward glance in the shower. I was new and I didn't know what to do with my face. What kind of a sin is that?”

“It wasn't the glance,” Synthecia said. “It was the judgement.”

“What judgement?” Roslyn said, confused.

“I heard you talking to Augusta afterwards,” she replied. “Giving it all the 'married to the Emperor' drak.”

Roslyn wasn't sure what Synthecia was talking about.

“Do you know how hard it has been for me and Senna? Having to watch our every move. Having to take care with everyone we confide in?” she said, her voice communicating a pain beyond the mere physical. “Do you know how long it has taken for me to build trust in others that has allowed us to be ourselves in the open?”

Roslyn looked to the ground, she couldn't look Synthecia in the eyes.

“I took one look at you and knew if I didn't put the frighteners on you immediately you'd go running to the priests and start spilling your guts about what the two of us mean to each other.”

Roslyn looked back her then, angry. “And yet I saw you flaunting each other in front of Deacon Trietta.”

“Different people need different approaches,” Synthecia said, honestly. “Why do you think I was taunting her so much? Trietta knows me as a troublemaker. She thinks everything I do is just to get under her skin, so when she sees me and Senna getting close to each other, she just thinks it's another playful jape.”

Roslyn shook her head. “And what if I had grown resentful,” she said. “What if I had exposed the two of you for revenge?”

“Like I said, I've been at this a long time,” Synthecia said. “I've learned to read a person from the moment I meet them. I have to if I want to spot threats to me and Senna. I knew as long as I made you more scared of me than you were of the Ecclesiarchy then you wouldn't say a word.”

Roslyn pouted. She didn't know what was worse. The fact that Synthecia had played mind games with her from the start, or that her reading of her was somewhat accurate. True, Roslyn probably wouldn't have deliberately exposed Synthecia and Senna's relationship, but who was to say she wouldn't have carelessly mentioned it in passing to the wrong person?

Roslyn looked to the ground again. All the talk had made her feel as though she was that scared girl in the showers again. “I understand,” she said. “Truth be told just before I was drafted into the order I... I thought maybe I would have had something, with somebody.”

Synthecia nodded then, and her face softened.

“But... even with all this,” Roslyn said. “We took a vow of chastity, aren't you worried about being found out? That they'll make you Repentia, or worse?”

Synthecia laughed then. It was a wholehearted one, not threatening at all. “Look around you Sister Roslyn,” she held out a hand to the craggy ground ahead of them, pockmarked with with the husks of dried old trees. “Sister Marie has already gone. Druga probably hasn't got much longer. Who knows about the Sister Superior, not to mention the others we lost in the crash.”

Roslyn felt sick for the briefest of moments. She couldn't believe sitting in the shuttle, talking across the way to Hornigold, had happened in the same day.

“Life as a Battle Sister is dangerous and fleeting,” Synthecia said, in a dry tone more serious than Roslyn had ever heard her use. “Sure I might get made Repentia, or they might flog me, or even execute me, but you know what? Our ship might also stall in the warp. The oxygen system might break down. Maybe a dark god will swallow our soul in the middle of the night. Maybe we'll die in a shuttle craft or get taken down by a sniper's bullet.”

Roslyn swallowed, Synthecia had accurately illustrated her unique point of view. Though it was not so unique any more.

“Death and pain waits around every corner,” she continued. “By the Golden Throne I'm going to make the most of what I have, in the time I have, and nobody is going to stop me.”

Roslyn and Synthecia walked in silence for a moment. Roslyn felt as though a great gulf that had once separated them had now been crossed.

“What about the Emperor?” Roslyn said, finally. “You did take a vow to him after all.”

Synthecia grinned. “After everything we've been through? Today alone?” she laughed. “I think the big man owes us a break now and again, don't you?”

Roslyn couldn't think of a counter argument, and instead replaced her helmet and reactivated her comms. “Alright Sisters,” she said, looking back towards the quickly setting sun behind them. “Daylight's almost gone. We need to start looking for a place to make camp.”

****

Within another hour darkness fell quickly, so Roslyn and the sisters decided to set up a makeshift camp in a deep depression in the rocks. The ground had gotten even more uneven, granting them the benefit of concealment from any nearby enemies, but coming with the consequence of making the remainder of their journey less clear.

More of the dry and dead trees had appeared along the way, so pulling off pieces to use as firewood was easy enough, and a campfire was lit using a small burst from the heavy flamer. While their power armour would keep them warm enough over the night, they saw no harm in keeping some light for a few hours more, and they used it to warm up some dissolved ration bars. Tasteless though they were, they relished the chance to have warm food in their stomachs.

After their roughshod meal, Roslyn sat there chewing on the remainder of Touro's dried meat. She glanced from one sister to the other. Each of them looked exhausted and gaunt. Only Senna seemed unconcerned, as she sharpened the blades of her knives.

Druga sat off to the side, still alert from the stimms, her surviving hand twitching and her teeth gritted. Chalice, meanwhile, sat shivering, rubbing the metal of her power armoured shoulders as though it were her own skin.

“Sister Chalice,” said Roslyn. “Are you okay?”

Chalice shook her head.

“She's getting obscura withdrawal,” Synthecia said. “Nothing is going to help her out here.”

“I just... just... need...” Chalice muttered.

Roslyn got up and made her way over to her. She sat down.

“You don't need anything,” Roslyn said, putting a hand on Chalice's shoulder pauldron. “Remember the Emperor's Day dance. Remember how together you were. You're still that same person. You just need to be strong.”

Chalice glanced over to the unconscious Augusta and breathed heavily.

“I can't,” she said. “Not after today.”

Roslyn sighed. “I believe you can Chalice,” she said. “You only need to believe in yourself.”

Chalice didn't answer, but she looked Roslyn in the eyes, and she nodded.

“Guh!” came a cry from the other side of the group. It was Druga.

Roslyn ran over. “Sister Druga are you okay?”

Druga was pale and exhausted. Her eyes were bloodshot and a thin layer of sweat coated her skin.

“S'okay,” she said. “Just got a pain in the arm.” Then she smiled. “The one I don't have. Keep forgetting it's not there.”

Druga then closed her eyes, and her smile dropped. She looked as though she had aged ten years.

“Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?” asked Roslyn, feeling terrible guilt that she had forced Druga to come this far.

“Nah,” she said, before giving out an uncomfortable cough. “Could use some water though.”

Roslyn reached into her pocket, but her hand didn't settle on her canteen. Instead she lifted out the small bottle of Touro's juice that she had brought with her.

She looked at Druga. The poor girl had been through more horror than anyone would hope to see.

“Here,” Roslyn said, as she uncorked the bottle and held it up to Druga's mouth.

The Battle Sister's face brightened as the taste hit her tongue, and she swallowed the whole thing down.

“Heh. Good old Touro,” she said.

Roslyn smiled.

“It's funny,” Druga said. “I never got the chance to tell her...”

Roslyn waited for Druga to continue. It was obvious that she was finding it hard to talk, but after some time had passed, Roslyn realised that Druga wasn't going to continue.

Roslyn removed one of her gauntlets and held her hand up to Druga's neck. There was no pulse.

Roslyn looked away and withheld the desire to punch the ground. Instead, she put her hand up to Druga's face, and closed her eyes.

No need to trouble the rest of the sisters until morning.

****

Roslyn was roused by the sound of voices.

It wasn't the nearby sisters. The voices were too far away for that, and the pace at which they talked didn't sound familiar to Roslyn.

She opened her eyes. It was almost pitch dark, but the landscape was lit by the clear light of the stars.

Roslyn stared up carelessly for a moment, and wondered that if she concentrated she would be able to make out the silhouette of the Victorium.

A few moments later Roslyn was fully conscious, and she turned to her left to discover that Synthecia, who's turn it was to take watch, was nowhere to be seen.

Concerned, Roslyn looked around for signs of her whereabouts. However, she left no specifics, and could only conclude Synthecia had gone to investigate the noises.

She was proven right the moment she looked up from their little depression. About forty meters away, Synthecia was laid down in the dirt, boltgun raised.

Taking care, Roslyn crouched down and stealthily made her way across. As she approached the voices got louder.

Synthecia turned her head as Roslyn approached, and put a finger to her lip in a gesture to keep it quiet.

Roslyn got down into the dirt and crawled alongside her. Side by side, she could now see what Synthecia was aiming at.

Down in a cavernous collection of rocks, was a group of six orks gathered round a campfire. They sat there nattering away. Some were warming themselves around the fire, others were slouched on their side. This, coupled with the fact that the ongoing sound of combat in the distance had died down since nightfall, gave Roslyn a worried feeling in her gut.

Roslyn leaned closer. She could see one of the orks was in distress about something. It had scorch marks across it's face, and had clearly lost an ear. The aliens spoke their own language, or so Roslyn thought, yet as she took notice, a few familiar words stood out to her. 'Boss', 'Shoota' and 'Boyz' were all mentioned on numerous occasions by the aggrieved ork.

If Roslyn had to guess, she'd assume that the ork wasn't happy with the way his leaders were running things.

“Can orks speak gothic?” Roslyn whispered to Synthecia.

“What?” she replied, confused.

“It's just that their dialect sounds similar,” Roslyn said. “That's all.”

“Xenos are xenos,” Synthecia said. “Either way, that's academic. What do we do now?”

“What do you mean?” Roslyn asked.

“I mean we've got the drop on them. If we wake the others we can probably wipe them out before they have time to react.”

Roslyn glanced back over at the group. The orks were clearly unconcerned with hiding their presence, so it was likely they weren't expecting conflict. Their weapons were strewn about the place haphazardly. It would probably be child's play to execute an ambush.

“Leave them,” Roslyn said.

“What?” Synthecia asked, trying desperately to stay quiet without hiding her surprise.

“We don't know how many others are out there,” Roslyn said. “If we make our presence known then there may be others nearby that would come after us in greater numbers. Best to leave them be.”

“Leave them be?” Synthecia said, making no effort to hide her disgust. “What about the Emperor's law? Suffer not the alien to live?”

“We've already lost too many sisters to stupid, rash decisions,” Roslyn shot back. “It's not worth taking the risk.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Synthecia asked.

“They're far enough away from our camp that it's unlikely they'll stumble across us by chance. As long as whoever is on watch stays vigilant, and we make to leave at early daylight, we should pass them by.”

Even though her face was obscured by the darkness, Roslyn could see that Synthecia wasn't happy, but she didn't object. Roslyn didn't like it either, but she knew it was their only option. They couldn't risk advertising their presence with an ambush, but they couldn't get up and go either, lest they lose their way in the darkness.

Synthecia sighed. “Fine,” she said, flicking the safety back on her boltgun.

“Good,” Roslyn said. “Let's get back to camp. It's my turn on watch anyway.”

****

By dawn all trace of the orks had gone. According to Synthecia, all they had left behind was the embers of their fire.

“Druga didn't make it,” Senna said, sadly.

“No!” cried Chalice. “No, no, no!”

Roslyn nodded sadly. “She went last night,” she said. “I didn't want to trouble you with it until morning.”

While Chalice put her head in her hands, the other sisters eyed Roslyn suspiciously.

“Well,” said Ironheart. “Some mission this is turning out to be.”

Roslyn ignored her pessimism. “Look, the pipe is right ahead of us now. I think we can make it in an hour or two, and then, it's just a matter of getting into the hive.”

“What if there's orks?” said Synthecia.

“Syn, don't be asinine,” said Ironheart. “You know what we'll have to do if there's orks.”

Synthecia's eyes squinted as she looked at Roslyn. It was clear she still disagreed with her decision the previous night.

“Alright?” Roslyn said. “Time enough for a quick prayer for Druga's soul, but we can't hang around.”

****

The ground was even rougher as they got closer to their destination. Some of the rocks appeared to be bleached white, apparently having come into contact with some form of chemical. If Roslyn was right about the hive having a run off pipe, then it was a good sign that they were getting close.

“Wait up,” Ironheart said from up ahead. “Got a greenskin here. A dead one.”

Once the group had caught her up it became clear that Ironheart had only come across the first of many. About ten to fifteen orks were splayed across the ground, seemingly killed in action.

“Their skin is dried and shrivelled,” said Ironheart. “I'd say they've been here a couple of days. Maybe longer.”

“Was it our lot?” Synthecia asked enthusiastically.

“Not sure,” Ironheart replied, turning over one of the bodies. “The wounds are too small to be from bolter fire, and most other Imperial units use laz weapons. This is clearly small arms fire, but focused. Precise.”

“Maybe the orks turned on each other,” Senna suggested. “They're known to fight over petty power struggles.”

Ironheart shook her head. “These orks were armed with axes and cleavers. If there was a scuffle they'd have engaged in close combat, but there's no sign of any such wounds here.”

With little more to discuss, Roslyn and the group moved on, agreeing that dead orks were at least better than living ones.

Soon enough the large pipe they were heading towards came into view, towering over them. It's massive sides were rusted from generations of use, and Roslyn had to wonder how many tonnes of fluid could flow through the thing.

As they got closer, they could see a vehicle parked up where the pipe expired, and figures were moving around it quickly. Roslyn concluded it was some kind of ork truck, and a jet of sparks shooting out from where one of the orks was standing made it clear they had the use of a blowtorch, or at least whatever the greenskin equivalent was.

“I told you they'd get the same idea,” moaned Synthecia.

“Doesn't look like there's a lot of them,” said Roslyn. “My guess is they went rogue. Could be looking for a way in to start pillaging ahead of the main force.”

“Oh,” Syntehcia said in mock surprise. “So you're an expert on greenskins now?”

“Pipe down Synthecia,” said Ironheart. “Why they're here doesn't matter. Question is what are we going to do about them?”

“The truck is covered,” Senna said. “Could be more inside.”

Roslyn scanned the area. The pipe stood over a deep crater that had likely been caused by centuries of erosion. The orks were on uneven ground, and the sisters had the drop on them. The only risk was the ork with the blowtorch. He was lynched on a harness, slung in place over a massive wheel on the hatch that blocked the pipe. Even distracted with the job at hand, there was a good chance he'd get a view of the sisters executing their ambush if he wasn't taken car of first.

“Alright,” Roslyn said, setting the unconscious Augusta on the ground. “Ironheart, I want you to stay back here. First, take out that ork on the harness, then lay down a suppressing fire to keep them pinned down. Keep an eye on the Sister Superior while you're at it.”

“Got it,” said Ironheart.

“Chalice?” Roslyn said.

“Y..yes?” Chalice responded, still shaking and shivering, even in the heat of the day.

“While we draw the orks attention I want you to sneak down to the back of that truck. Use your heavy flamer to torch the entire vehicle, doesn't matter if anyone is in there or not.”

“O...okay,” she said. “I can do that.”

“Synthecia, Senna,” Roslyn nodded to the other two. “We'll make our way down the rocks and draw their attention. Once the ork on the harness and the truck has been taken care of it's just a matter of killing as many as we can.”

The two sisters just nodded.

The sisters took their positions, with Roslyn, Synthecia and Senna squeezing their way through a slim crevice in the rocks. It was hard going in their power armour, and for a moment Roslyn found herself longing for the freedom of movement she would get by taking it off. Then she realised how vulnerable she would be.

They were level with most of the orks quickly, so Roslyn glanced left, and could just see the barrel of Iroheart's heavy bolter poking from the top.

Roslyn raised her hand and shook her wrist to signal her to fire.

The thumping of bolter fire rang out immediately, and the ork on the harness flailed as he was riddled with holes. Then he fell to the ground helplessly, as the other orks shouted in alarm.

Roslyn began firing at the nearest greenskin, who was too slow to do anything. She then aimed at another, before an explosion suddenly rang out from the direction of the truck. Chalice's flames must have ignited it's fuel.

For a moment Roslyn was concerned that Chalice might have been caught in the blaze herself, but was soon distracted as the shockwave from the blast knocked her and the the nearest ork from their feet.

Roslyn grabbed for solid ground beneath her, but the loose, chalky rock kept crumpling against the strength of her reinforced boots. As Roslyn struggled to aim, she realised the ork had spotted this too, and it jumped upon her.

Roslyn didn't have time to see if any of the others had befallen the same fate. She pulled her boltgun up, but the ork swatted it aside easily. Then it headbutted her, it's thick skull bashing against her helmet. Roslyn bounced around inside her armour, disoriented.

“Ironheart,” she cried through the comms. “A little help.”

“You're too low,” Ironheart replied in a panic. “I can't see you.”

“Syn!” Roslyn shouted. “Senna.”

“We're pinned down!” Senna replied. “Can't get to you.”

Roslyn punched back at the greenskin, but this one was too quick for her. It caught her hand in mid punch and smiled a sickening grin.

The creature yanked Roslyn's helmet from the top of her armour, the latches at the side presenting little obstacle. Then it clasped it's large hand around Roslyn's head, and it's grip began to tighten.

Roslyn felt as though her head had been trapped in a vice. The ork's grip grew tighter, and she could feel her skull buckling against the pressure. She flailed against the attack, but her obscured vision, coupled with the pain, made it almost impossible to focus on a target.

Her boltgun was too large for her to pull towards the ork, so instead she began to punch at it's torso. It was to no avail however, and the creature's grip tightened.

Just as Roslyn felt as though her skull was going to split, their was a deafening crack, and the pressure left immediately. Blood and viscera splattered across Roslyn's face, and she could now see the ork had a hole in it's own skull before it slumped back and rolled to the ground.

Roslyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. “Whoever that was.”

Lying on the dirt, Roslyn had a good view of the large pipe towering above her. At first she thought she was imagining things. That the pressure had affected her vision. Atop the pipe, stood two or three figures, armed with long barrelled rifles.

As Roslyn got to her feet, she could see they were surrounded by these figures. They wore muddy brown robes, and tunics made of stiff leather. Roslyn's heart leapt when she realised that they were recognisably human.

The closest of the group pulled back a dust mask they held around their mouth, and revealed the face of a young woman. Her skin was an amber brown, and her wide eyes showed no compassion to Roslyn.

The woman aimed the rifle towards Roslyn's chest. “You're coming with us,” she said, menacingly.


	13. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Thirteen

By Jack Harvey

The sister's powered boots splashed and clanged in the dirty liquid at their feet. They had little room inside the circumference of the pipe, and their captors kept them huddled together.

“If they're not Imperial then who are they?” Roslyn whispered.

“Hive outcasts,” Synthecia said. “Communities of scavengers that live outside of Imperial law. Every hive world has them. Some call them Ratskins, on account of their leathers being made from flayed rodents.”

“Quiet surfacer,” one of the outcasts said from behind her, and shoved Synthecia forward, almost making her trip over her own feet. “Keep moving.”

“Just say the word,” Synthecia said. “They'll be no match for us.”

That much was true, the outcast's small calibre slugs would bounce right off their power armour. Roslyn had considered resisting their apprehension, but they were still outnumbered about four to one, and who knew what other surprises the outcasts could have in store.

Plus, they still didn't really know the outcasts true agenda. They had been kept alive, and it appeared as though they were not entirely hostile, but they had not allowed the sisters to negotiate, nor advise them of their intentions.

“I wonder what they were doing at the mouth of the pipe?” Roslyn continued.

“They probably use it as a passage in and out of the hive,” Synthecia replied. “My guess is they didn't want ork or Imperial forces to find it.”

“I told you to stay quiet!” the outcast said again from behind them, but this time he turned on Chalice, and shoved her to the ground.

“No, please,” Chalice blubbered.

“Leave her alone!” cried Roslyn.

One of the other outsiders kneeled down and looked at Chalice. “This one has the poison in her. I can tell.”

“Stow your anger,” said the woman who had confronted Roslyn earlier. “It is not your place to sit in judgement.”

“If these are the finest that their Emperor can offer I fear for the rest of them,” said the man.

“Enough!” the woman shouted. “We shall see what Kuloskap makes of them. Your opinions are irrelevant.”

All the while Roslyn was scanning the group for information. Near the back, two outcasts were, with great difficulty, carrying Augusta by the hands and feet of her armour. This alone told her that they had some concept of honour as opposed to the savage orks outside.

The young woman helped Chalice back to her feet, but gave her no words of kindness. She seemed to be the superior of the group. She was the one walking on ahead, and occasionally issued orders to the others. Roslyn made a mental note that such information might come in useful later.

As they continued down the pipe it got progressively darker, until all light was eventually blotted out. Roslyn and the others were instructed to put their hands on the person in front of them and to simply keep walking.

Roslyn was worried Synthecia might try something. With everyone blind in the darkness, it would be the best, and worst opportunity to attempt an escape.

Fortunately nobody did anything rash, and they continued, with great difficulty, to walk in the pitch darkness for another half an hour.

Eventually they seemed to arrive at a solid wall. The entire group came to a stop, and to Roslyn it seemed as though they had simply arrived at a dead end.

The young woman stepped forwards, and began tapping on the metal to her left. They were soft, precise taps, with very specific pauses between each one. Once she had come to an end, silence again returned.

Then, the entire chamber was filled with the groan of rusted metal grinding against rusted metal. Blinding light shone into Roslyn's eyes, and she had to cover her hand with her gauntlet, having spent so long in the darkness, it took her eyes a few moments to adjust as they were led out into the open.

When she took her hand away from her eyes, Roslyn found the view nothing short of astonishing.

They were standing in the middle of a massive chamber that ran in both directions for miles, and seemed to be hundreds of stories high. It reminded Roslyn of the huge processing plants back on Carnford, though this appeared to have ran into centuries of disrepair.

Whatever the place's original purpose, the outcasts had turned it into what Roslyn could only conclude was a city of sorts. Hundreds of thousands of little huts and dwellings had been built onto the sides of piping systems and inside mesh fences. Banners of died fabric hung from the sides, each one beautiful in vivid and vibrant colours. Wind chimes and other spiritual charms cobbled together from scrap and loose stone hung from balconies and wash lines.

The entire community appeared to be built and maintained from the discarded remnants of the hive above. Buckets were laid outside to collect drippings from water and other liquids that cascaded down from hundreds of miles above. Light was being directed from above through enormous pieces of glass.

As Roslyn and the other sisters were escorted between the dwellings, curious eyes and faces glanced out at them. Old men and women, children and adolescents, all seemed to be fascinated by what new drama might be unfolding now that the sisters had arrived.

They were led to a maintenance lift that looked as thought it had seen better days. The metal floor creaked uncomfortably under the bulk of their power armour.

About half of the outcasts stepped on with them, but Roslyn noticed that the men carrying Augusta were heading in a different direction.

“Wait,” Roslyn said, as the lift's gate was shut in front of them. “That's our Sister Superior. Where are you taking her?”

“She is unwell,” the young woman said. “She needs tended to. Do not fear, she will receive the finest of care.”

“You're going to have to forgive my scepticism,” Roslyn said, and it was true that she felt unease at the idea of strange people administering their own aid to her squad leader.

“You have my word,” the woman said. “No harm will come to her.”

“Your word?” Roslyn said. “I don't even know your name.”

The woman smiled, then she punched a worn red button to her left. The lift groaned to life, and they ascended the ramshackle dwellings.

****

They were led into a creaking, rickety building made out of sheet metal that looked down over the entire outcast community.

At the centrepiece of this room was a grand throne. It had been pieced together out of wooden branches, clustered together in such a way that it reminded Roslyn of some of the brambles in the uncultivated parts of Carnford. Knowing what she did about the local flora they had seen, it must have taken them quite some time to collect such specimens from out in the wastes.

Atop the throne sat an older man, whom Roslyn had to conclude was a leader of sorts. Like the girl who was accompanying them, he had a similar ochre coloured skin, though his had been hewed with age, and become tough and leathery. His eyes regarded the sisters, from a broad and domineering nose.

“So,” he said, in a deep and confident voice. “You were the ones who saw fit to interfere with out defence of the outflow pipe?”

Roslyn looked to the other sisters.

“News travels fast,” Synthecia whispered.

Roslyn decided to speak. “We didn't know the pipe was already in use as a passageway,” she said. “We were simply stuck behind enemy lines and were looking for a way to regroup with the rest of the Imperial forces.”

The man on the throne sneered, but he did not say anything.

“Great Kuloskap,” the young woman said, stepping forward. “I don't believe these surfacers were aware of our presence. They made no effort to harry our defence. In fact they were more concerned with the greenskins.”

“Yes,” Roslyn said. “Our quarrel is not with you. We only wish to defend your hive and this planet.”

Kuloskap leaned forward. “Many in the past have spoken about defending the hive,” he said. “The Enforcers, who tell us we are breaking their laws. The miners, who tell us we are living on their property. Every time a surfacer talks of defence they always say that it is us who have to sacrifice our freedom in the name of it.”

Roslyn shook her head and smiled, she had no interest in getting into a discussion about local politics.

“We're not asking you to sacrifice anything,” Roslyn said. “We simply want to regroup with the rest of our order.”

Kuloskap glanced at her sceptically, then he scanned the room, taking in each sister's expression in silent judgement.

“So you return to the rest of your people?” Kuloskap said. “And they ask you how you came to arrive inside the hive. You tell them of our people, and the land we live on, and so, they send men down, the Enforcers, the miners, or worse. Everything we have here. Everything we have built. It would be all for nothing.”

“I knew it was going to go this way,” said Synthecia with a sigh.

“So what are you suggesting?” asked Ironheart. “That we stay here?”

“That is what we have yet to decide,” he said, resting his chin on a hand.

Roslyn put a hand over her eyes, exasperated. “Look, there is an army of vicious xenos out there, and from what we saw, the Imperial forces defending this hive aren't doing so well against them. They need all the help they can get, and if they fall, you fall with them.”

Kuloskap looked unimpressed. “The hive has seen invasion before. It survived that. It will survive again.”

“In the Emperor's name man, can't you see that...” Roslyn took a step forward.

The surrounding outcasts all raised their weapons and pointed them at Roslyn, reacting to what they perceived as a threat.

Kuloskap, however, simply raised a hand to stop them. Then he stood from his throne. “In the Emperor's name?” he asked, mockingly. “We do not recognise the legitimacy of your deity.”

“This is heresy,” said Synthecia under her breath. “We should toast this scum where he stands.”

However, it was Senna who moved to calm her. “Shhh,” she said. “Let him say his piece.”

Kuloskap took a few steps to the left, and put his hand onto a rusted pipe. “We only recognise one god,” he said. “One that we can feel. One that we can touch. It is a god that provides for us. Grants us shelter. It gives life just as readily as it takes it away. The hive is the only god we recognise.”

“If you care about the hive so much why are you standing by and watching it fall?” Roslyn shouted.

Suddenly, one of the sisters stepped in front of her. It was Senna. She put a hand to Roslyn's chest plate and moved her out of the way.

“Here,” Senna said. “Let me try.”

Senna approached Kuloskap. She held her hands out freely at either side, to show she planned no tricks, and then bowed.

“Great Kuloskap. I am Senna Andriam, formerly of the Zanahary nation and currently of the Order of the Sacred Martyr. It was not our intent to intrude on your people's territory. On our behalf may I humbly request forgiveness for this intrusion, and your ear for the briefest of moments.”

Kuloskap raised his eyebrows, seeming pleased, and honoured, at the respect Senna was showing him. He pondered her words for a few moments, before returning to his throne.

“If I were to grant your request,” Kuloskap said. “What benefit would this be to me and my people?”

“I admit that we have little material wealth that we can offer you,” Senna continued. “We cannot part with our weapons and armour, and most of our supplies were used up during our march along the wastes.” She then held a hand out to Roslyn. “Though my compatriot here may have put it in less elegant phrasing, she does, however, speak the truth. The hive is in danger, it is as much in your benefit to defend it as it is ours.”

Kuloskap leaned back in his throne then. He was taking Senna's words more seriously, but still seemed mostly sceptical.

“Look,” said Senna. “I understand your reservations. Back amongst my people we also thought of the Emperor as just some other god from some other culture. However, over time I came to learn that my people's own gods were just one aspect of many.”

She took another few steps forward.

“It has many names. The Emperor. The Star Child. The Omnissiah. The Hive. The specifics don't matter. They change from world to worlds, person to person, but what we do know is that they watch over us, they guide us, they protect us. They are often the only light in the darkness, and it is our sacred duty to protect that light.”

Kuloskap glanced over to the young outcast woman, then back at Senna.

“We give you our word,” Senna said. “We will not speak of you or your people's place here. All we ask is you release us to do our duty.”

“Your words ring true, Senna of the Zanahary, but even so, it is too much of a risk.”

The young woman stepped forward then, there was anger in her voice. “Great Kuloskap, father, nobody understands our need for secrecy greater than I, but we cannot keep them here. The ork attacks have grown more brazen against our people. We have lost more to them in weeks than we have to the Enforcers in years.”

She pushed past Roslyn and Senna to make her way for the throne. She kneeled, and took Kuloskap's hand.

“If we will not fight ourselves then at least let these surfacers go to do it on our behalf.”

Kuloskap yanked his hand away from the girl. “You forget your place Ata, daughter. Though you share my blood you hold no position to advice me on the affairs of our people.”

“I'm not seeking to be an advisor,” she said. “Only your daughter, and as your daughter I say these greenskins will not spare us. All our work to mislead the Enforcers and the miners and our numerous other enemies will have been for nothing if the hive falls to these creatures.”

Kuloskap grimaced. It was clear that his daughter's words were pulling at his priorities.

“Very well,” he sighed eventually. “There is a great foundry directly above this place. We have been bribing the foreman to allow us to pass without incident for years. We will gift you with enough credits for your passage, and you will speak no further of this place to anyone.”

“Thank you great Kuloskap,” said Senna bowing, while Roslyn and the others tried to mimic her motion.

“I am also aware that you have wounded, so grant you the freedom to rest and recuperate, but do not press my generosity.”

The group nodded.

“Ata,” he said to the girl, now standing. “Stay with them, and make sure they stay true to their words.”

“Yes father,” she said, and led them out of the room.

****

Roslyn shivered under the cold water. While the opportunity to clean the sweat and dirt off herself was welcome, she had been spoiled with warm water on both Carnford and The Victorium. She was not accustomed to the freezing stream of water that had come shooting out of the redirected pipes above them.

“I've got to ask you,” said Synthecia to Ata as the woman supervised the two of them. “What use does a bunch of scavengers like you have for money?”

“Practically nothing,” Ata answered. “We do not understand your surfacer propensity to reduce the value of something to a simple token. The hive provides all we need here.”

“Oh I'm sure it does,” Synthecia said, smiling at Roslyn and rolling her eyes.

“Indeed,” Ata said, either not noticing the sarcasm or ignoring it. “Yet, despite all that it gives, many surfacers still see to it to throw their own lives away. Many bodies find their way down our pipes and into our refuse piles. We do not know if these are by accident or by design, but we see to it that their possessions do not go to waste.”

Roslyn shivered at the thought. Back on Carnford every healthy body was treated as valuable. With farms to be tended and goods to be transported, every citizen had a purpose. What kind of living did a hive city offer if life could be discarded so casually?

Once she had finished cleaning up, Roslyn got dressed and returned to her power armour, Ata observing her curiously as she did.

“Is something bothering you?” Roslyn asked innocently.

Ata was unsure how to answer at first. She brushed her black hair out of her eyes, which reminded Roslyn, just briefly, of Hornigold.

“It's just that most surfacers we come across are weak. They rely on technology and armour so that their fragile bodies do not have to take on the strain of hard work. I expected once you stepped out of that armour you also would be soft and weak, but it appears you have known your share of hardship.”

Roslyn didn't know what to say. She had always thought of herself on the weaker end of the spectrum back on The Victorium. Always lagging behind the sisters. She wasn't expecting to hear praise for her musculature.

“Oh,” said Roslyn. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

Suddenly, an old woman stepped out from a crevice in the wall. Roslyn had assumed that it was an unassuming crack, but it actually appeared to be one of many passageways for navigating the community.

The woman was wizened, and rough. Roslyn couldn't tell how old she was, but she looked far older than Prioress Grana.

Roslyn found herself wondering what those back at the convent on Carnford were doing right about then.

“The one known as Augusta wishes to speak with you,” the old woman said.

Roslyn's heart skipped a beat, and frantically, she ran over to the woman. “Take me to her,” she spluttered.

****

Augusta had been removed from her power armour and lay in a large bed, under a cover made of some kind of hairy animal skin.

She smiled when she saw Roslyn enter.

“Roslyn,” she said, her voice a rasping croak. “I'm not going to lie, when they told me one of the sisters had taken charge in my stead I never thought it would be you.”

Roslyn didn't take the comment as an insult, and smiled back. “Sister Superior Augusta,” she said. “It is good to see that you are okay.”

Roslyn wanted to run over and hug her. She wanted to spew out how happy she was to see Augusta conscious. She wanted to cheer that all her hard work had not been in vain. However, even in this dire situation, Augusta was still her commander, and she had to behave as such.

“Nerve damage,” Augusta said immediately. “Can't move all that much. Reckon they're going to need to anaesthetize me when it's time to move. No good to you now, but if we can get to the Hospitaller they should be able to sort something out.”

Roslyn shivered, and held back the tears. She had hoped Augusta's recovery would be swift, but it sounded as though she could be incapacitated for some time, if not indefinitely.

“How many...” Augusta said. “How many did we lose?”

Roslyn approached the bed, and kneeled down next to her. She sighed.

“Only me Synthecia, Senna, Ironheart and Chalice made it,” she said in a whisper.

“What... happened?” Augusta asked.

“Most of them died in the crash,” Roslyn said, trying to blot out the memory as she talked. “Marie and Druga made it, but... the orks got them. I personally watched them die.”

Suddenly Roslyn couldn't hold it in any longer. The crash, the battle. Hornigold. Marie. Druga, despite all her best efforts. The emotional impact of the last few days came flooding back, and she immediately began to weep.

“I tried,” she said, putting her head onto Augusta's covers. “I tried to keep as many of us going as I could but...”

“Shhh,” Augusta said, comforting her. “That's the reality of war. When we took our vows we pledged to give our lives in the Emperor's name. I'm sure they died with honour.”

Roslyn had to wonder what honour there was in a shuttle crash, or a shot to the throat.

“And anyway,” she continued. “You managed to keep me alive. That can't have been easy.”

Roslyn sniffed, and composed herself. “I had to carry you on my back most of the way.”

Augusta laughed softly then. “I almost can't believe it,” she said. “Sister Roslyn from Carnford, holding the whole thing together.”

Roslyn smiled.

“What's the situation up top looking like?” Augusta asked.

Roslyn shook her head. “Hard to say,” she replied. “We could see the force besieging the hive for miles, and we've had no contact with Imperial forces. The outcasts here were the first human faces we've seen in days.”

Augusta didn't respond. Clearly she didn't have anything else to add.

The old woman had entered the room. “It is time,” she said. “We will put the injured one to sleep, and provide you with a more effective means of transporting her.”

Augusta looked back at Roslyn. “Well,” she said. “Hopefully next time I see you it'll be under better circumstances.”

Roslyn wanted to stay longer. She had so much she wanted to ask Augusta. So many questions about the burden of command, and the responsibility of leadership. Most of all, though, she wanted to know where they stood now. Were they still soldier or commander? Equals? Or something more?

There was not time however, as the old woman was shortly joined by Ata and the other Battle Sisters.

It was time to get going.


	14. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Fourteen

By Jack Harvey

“This is as far as I go,” Ata said, standing beside a small totem that appeared to be some kind of territorial marker.

Roslyn glanced forward. The passage was dark and wet. Rusted sheet metal lined the walls. Yet they were clearly out of the undercity. The faint sound of wind whistled through holes in the metal. They had to have been above ground.

“Just keep going,” Ata continued. “When you get to the far side it'll look like a dead end, but if you search to your right you'll find lever that will open it for you.”

Roslyn nodded.

“Hive protect you,” Ata then said, with uncharacteristic sincerity.

“Emperor protect you,” Roslyn replied.

Ata smiled, and then stepped back into the darkness.

Roslyn led them forwards, with Ironheart and Chalice at the back carrying Augusta on a stretcher. The walk was not long, and true to her world, Roslyn could see the marked apparatus that Ata had mentioned.

Roslyn gripped the lever. It was rusted, and stiff, but no obstacle for her power armoured gauntlet. She yanked it back, and the wall rose up. A yellow glow illuminated the passageway, and they stepped forward into the light.

The opening took them up a flight of stone stairs, and led them into what Roslyn had to assume was the bottom floor of the foundry Kuloskap had mentioned.

They ascended another flight of stairs, and began to take in the size of the place. Great kilns were heating molten metal, and it ran across little canals from one part of the floor to another. The sisters stepped carefully, not wanting to risk burning their armoured feet.

“Didn't they say we have to bribe somebody?” asked Synthecia.

“I don't see anyone around,” replied Ironheart. “Be on the look out for some kind of office or break room. Maybe there'll be somebody there.”

Roslyn and the group carried on forward. The entire foundry was eerie silent, despite the fact that it appeared to be in full operation, there was not a soul in sight.

Senna raised her weapon. “I don't like this,” she said.

Roslyn held up a hand. “Stay alert,” she replied. “But try not to get too twitchy, we don't want to murder any Imperial citizens by accident.”

They walked further along. The foundry was in the same condition along it's entire length. The machines were all in operation, it was lit and ready for work, but still no sign of life.

Eventually they arrived near the front. There was a small box of a room, a glass window to one side, covered in a mesh cage.

Roslyn approached carefully. It looked like the kind of place somebody of authority would be hanging around, so she hoped they would finally get some answers. She peeked into the window.

“Well,” she said. “I'm going to assume that's the foreman.”

A man was seated in a chair, looking out through the glass. Roslyn assumed under nomal circumstances he'd be seated to greet visitors, and indeed, accept bribes from passing outcasts. For the sisters, however, the foreman was not a welcome sight. A massive wound had been tore into his torso. Blood was splattered across data slates and paper records.

Chalice dropped her part of the stretcher, almost causing the unconscious Augusta to slide off.

“No,” she said. “Nnnnnnn...”

“Sister Chalice can you keep it together please?” Ironheart shouted back at her.

“It's okay Chalice,” Roslyn said calmly. “It's okay.”

Nervously, Chalice bent down and picked the stretcher back up again.

“Orks?” Roslyn asked.

“Maybe,” replied Ironheart. “But where are they? This doesn't look like the work of an invader.”

“Well,” said Synthecia. “I don't know about you, but...”

The sisters were knocked back by an immediate impact. Suddenly a figure had dropped from one of the floors above down on top of Synthecia. It raised it's arms, ready to strike. As Roslyn flicked off her safety and aimed her boltgun, she did not see the green skin she was expecting. While the attacker was bestial in nature, it clearly cut the appearance of a human, but fused into it's dirty scarred flesh was a mechanical circular saw, not unlike the one that had felled Druga.

Both Roslyn and Senna fired at the same time, shredding the attacker and splattering Synthecia with blood.

Swiftly, she wiped the viscera from her face and got to her feet.

“What was that?” asked Roslyn.

“A pit slave,” Synthecia said. “Sometimes the hive likes to take it's worst criminals, replace their limbs with power tools, and send them to do the most risky jobs. Most break out and make a living in combat arenas.”

“So,” Roslyn said. “What you're saying is that they're incredibly dangerous?”

Synthecia smiled, and wiped the rest of the blood from her face. “Look, some of my best friends back on Volistad were pit fighters.”

Suddenly the sound of power tools and machinery whirring to life could be heard echoing from somewhere in the foundry.

“Well I don't think anyone is in the habit of making friends today,” Roslyn said.

“They must have been staging a break out,” Synthecia said. “And we've stumbled into the middle of it.”

“Ironheart, Chalice, you stay with Augusta,” Roslyn commanded. “We'll sweep the building.”

“Got it,” Ironheart said, putting Augusta down and readying her heavy bolter.

As quietly as they could, Roslyn, Synthecia and Senna began to make their way across the floor. Surrounded as they were by big pipes and machinery, there were multiple places an attacker could spring an ambush.

Roslyn blinked, and in a split second another manic and greasy pit slave had jumped into view. The hulking brute had a rock drill for an arm, and lunged it at Roslyn.

She dived to her left. “Contact!” she shouted, but almost immediately saw Senna and Synthecia get accosted by other attackers. One with a spindly metal arm was attempting to grab at them.

In the chaos and confusion, Roslyn backed herself up against a large pipe. With nowhere to move, the pit slave thrust his drill at Roslyn, and with a deafening whine it cut it's way into her shoulder pauldron.

Roslyn kicked at his feet, and the pit slave fell, pulling the drill free before it could do any further damage. The sensation of the drill being pulled free sent a nervous shiver through Roslyn, and so she jumped to the right, and ran into a larger open area, before turning once she heard the sound of gunfire.

“Synthecia?” she said into her comms. “Senna?”

“Got five or six coming at us here Ros!” Synthecia shouted back, almost drowned out by the sound of bolter fire. “Going to need some help.”

The pit slave had now gotten to his feet and had began striding towards Roslyn. She raised her boltgun, but hesitated. Despite the man's monstrous appearance, she couldn't deny that she was looking into human eyes.

“Stop,” she said. “This doesn't need to go any further.”

He ignored her, and a viscous sneer spread across his face

“In the Emperors name, stop!”

He pulled back the rock drill, ready for another lunge.

Roslyn pulled the trigger and a spray of bolts bisected his torso. The pit slave fell to the ground in a bloody mess.

“Roslyn, you there?” shouted Synthecia down the comms.

Despite the sense of urgency, Roslyn couldn't help but stop and look down at her kill. Having killed before, she noticed there was something different about committing the act single handedly against a fellow human being. A knot formed in her stomach.

“Roslyn!” shouted Synthecia.

Roslyn then put her reservations aside, and ran back the way she came, following the sounds of combat.

Turning the corner of a massive kiln, Roslyn arrived to find five dead pit slaves. Synthecia and Senna appeared none the worse for wear.

“Well about time,” Synthecia said, annoyed.

Roslyn breathed a sigh of relief. “You seem to have handled it alright.”

“That's not the point,” Synthecia said, ready to start a diatribe.

Senna stopped her. “Leave it,” she said. “We've dallied enough already. We need to get moving.”

“Agreed,” Roslyn said, before activating her comms. “Ironheart, Chalice, get Augusta up and get ready to move.”

“Got some good new for you,” Ironheart replied. “I'm picking up Imperial traffic on our comms. I think once we're out of the building we should be able to contact whoever is in command.”

****

At first Roslyn was relived to be back in Imperial territory again, but upon entering the hive proper, her opinion almost immediately changed.

In order to link up with the Imperial forces at the defensive wall, they were instructed to make their way through the nearest habitation district. The journey gave Roslyn the opportunity to take a comprehensive look at the average hive citizen's life up close.

Despite the fact that they were technically 'outdoors' there was no sign of the open sky, as the towering sides of the hive rose up as far as the eye could see.

The habitation units were crammed up against each other, some barely bigger than the maintenance closet Chalice used to hide in. Whole families were cooped up in such units. Husbands and wives, fathers and daughters. Their dirty faces looked out at the sisters as they traversed the rusty gantries that connected one set of units to another.

It was then that Roslyn truly understood why Kuloskap and his people fought so hard to keep their community a secret.

As the sisters got closer to the wall, the hive's inhabitants appeared to become more numerous, and eventually the sisters were having to make their way through a tightly packed crowd. The people were screaming and shouting at Imperial officials who stood behind a line of shield wielding Enforcers.

Some people were calling for more food. They couldn't make do with the rations they were given. Others complained that they had been relocated from higher up the spire, and found the accommodations they had been given abhorrent.

In days gone by, Roslyn would have probably found herself aiding such people. Volunteering to see to their needs, or offering advice in a trying time. Now, however, she simply barked at them to get out of the way.

“Make way in the Emperor's name,” she called. “We have wounded here!”

“Yeah,” shouted Synthecia. “Get the frag out of our faces drekbirds!”

Eventually they arrived at the line of Enforcers. Roslyn studied the man in front of her. He wore heavy plate armour that was covered in golden eagles. His eyes scanned out frantically from two slits in his massive helmet. In the grand scheme of things, he didn't look all that different from her.

“Get back I say,” the Enforcer shouted, pushing Roslyn back, a shield in one hand and a massive looking shotgun in the other.

“Excuse me?” Roslyn said, insulted.

The Enforcer seemed to be paying no attention to who he was addressing, simply seeing the crowd as one homogeneous entity. “I said get back you Emperor damned creeps!”

“I am Sister Roslyn of the Order of the Sacred Martyr,” she shouted over the blare of the crowd. “I have a wounded superior here, and remind you that it is an offence to obstruct the servants of our Emperor's holy work.”

The Enforcer glanced her up and down. Then he lifted his shield back. “Alright, through you go,” he replied simply.

“That's it?” she said. “No apology.”

“Don't push your luck sister,” the Enforcer said. “I don't think you've noticed, but we've got a siege on our hands. We don't have time for politeness today.”

Roslyn glared at him, but didn't say anything further. She signalled the rest of the sisters to follow and they made their way through.

“Golden throne!” said Synthecia. “I thought you were going to bite that Enforcer's head off.”

Ironheart laughed. “You'd have paid to have seen that, right Synthecia.”

“Those chucklefrags used to give me all sorts of grief back on Volistad,” Synthecia said. “You're damn right I'd like to see them taken down a peg.”

“Enough,” Roslyn said, disinterested in their banter. “We need to keep moving.”

Finding the rest of their way to the Imperial line was easy, as red flak jacket wearing Planetary Defence Force members were all moving troops and supplies in one direction. As they got closer, Roslyn could begin to hear the sounds of combat. Weapons were firing, orders were being barked, and the rumble of explosions could be felt.

Turning a corner, they came out into a staging area, and the huge defensive wall could be seen towering over them. PDF Soldiers ran about the place frantically, while scores of wounded lay at the side, their blood indistinguishable from the red armour they wore, screaming and crying. Massive artillery guns could be seen firing shells off over the wall, while on top of the wall itself stood many hundreds of men and women stationed at gun emplacements, firing, presumably, at the orks beyond.

“Excuse me,” Roslyn said, to man who looked as though he was in charge. “Sister Roslyn of the Order of the Weeping Martyr. We were instructed to regroup here?”

“Ah, yes,” the man said politely, as though Roslyn had done little more than order a drink. “I'm Captain Dillards. You have wounded, correct?”

“Just one,” Roslyn said, pointing to Augusta. “She's our Sister Superior.”

“Hendricks!” Dillards shouted over his shoulder. “We've got wounded over here, get your people in gear!”

A group of men, appearing to be medics, came over to relive Ironheart and Chalice of Augusta.

“What seems to be the problem?” Hendricks said, checking her pulse.

“Concussion,” Roslyn said. “From a shuttle crash, and maybe nerve damage.”

“We'll see to her sister,” he said, raising his voice a little over the screams of another soldier nearby. “The Emperor Protects!”

“The Emperor Protects,” Roslyn replied and she watched them, with great effort, lift the stretcher and carry Augusta away.

“The rest of the sisters are stationed at muster point B6,” Dillard's said. “Just follow the line of Earthshaker guns and go up the service ramp. When Commander Al-Tara has need of you we'll send word.”

“Thank you,” Roslyn said.

“The Emperor Protects,” he nodded, and quickly marched off to some other affair before she could reply.

They made their way past the artillery guns. All along the stretch of the wall, Roslyn could see men and women of the PDF, weapons clenched in their hands, fear in their eyes, waiting with dread for them to be the next called to fight. As she walked past, they looked up at the sisters in admiration, with pride. Just their mere presence was enough to make those soldiers feel as though maybe there was just a little more hope than before.

Little did they realise Roslyn was just as frightened as they were.

After they had ascended the ramp, Roslyn could see the familiar blue and yellow armour of their fellow sisters. An intact shuttle was parked on the other side of a hanger, while a Rhino transport was being prepared for combat.

“Sister Roslyn,” came a familiar voice.

Roslyn turned, it was Sister Touro. She ran up to Roslyn, a wide smile across her scarred face. As cumbersome as their power armour was, she did her best to give Roslyn what equated to a hug.

“I knew you had to have survived that shuttle crash,” she said. Then she began to look to the others, smiling in recognition, before it began to fade. “So... where is everybody?”

Roslyn paused. She didn't know how to put it to Touro, and so decided it would be best to simply put it plain. “This is it,” Roslyn said, softly. “Sister Superior Augusta is with the medics. None of the others made it.”

“Druga?” Touro asked, as her bottom lip trembled.

Roslyn shook her head.

Without warning Touro began bawling. She clasped a hand around Roslyn's collar as her feet fell from under her. Roslyn caught Touro's arm to keep her from hitting the ground.

“It's okay,” Roslyn said. “It's okay.” Yet she did not know if that was true.

Touro righted herself, and looked back at the sisters. When her gaze settled on Chalice, her expression hardened. “You!” she shouted. “This is all your fault. If you hadn't lost the Cardinal then the Emperor wouldn't be punishing us like this!”

She jumped out of Roslyn's arms and made to attack Chalice. Chalice, for her own part, made no effort to defend herself.

Ironheart dived by and tackled Touro before she could get to her. “Easy there sister,” she said. “Hold your tongue, this isn't on Sister Chalice.”

“No,” Chalice disagreed. She was starting to cry too. “This is all my fault. I shouldn't be here. It would have been better for everyone if I just...”

“Chalice!” Roslyn shouted. “That's not true. I'd be dead if it wasn't for you.”

Chalice looked to the ground.

“I know it's been hard,” Roslyn said, walking over to her and taking her by the hand. “But we made it, and if nothing else, I'm glad I made it with you.”

Chalice tried to muster a smile through the tears.

“Sister Touro!” came a shout from across the room. “What's all this commotion?”

Roslyn turned. A sister she didn't recognise was approaching. From her emblem she figured she must have been Touro's Sister Superior.

“Just greeting the new arrivals Sister Superior,” Touro said, standing to attention and wiping her eyes.

“Ah yes,” she said. Her hair was white, and she appeared to have a busted eye. “I am Sister Superior Dantari. With Augusta currently unavailable you have all been folded into my squad.” She paused, scanning them up and down. “Well, don't just slouch there. Fall in!”

Tired, deflated and aching, Roslyn did her best to stand to attention.

“How much of the situation have you been told?” she said.

Roslyn and the other sisters looked at each other, then back at Dantari. “To be honest with you, Sister Superior, basically nothing.”

“Well then,” she said swiftly. “Here it is; our squad is the only one that made it to the hive. The rest of the order's forces have regrouped with the Imperial Guard on the other side of the ork line. We've been waiting for them to push through, but so far they've had no success. For now we've been working with Hive Excavor's PDF forces in holding the walls. Until we reunite with Palatine Zennica, we're taking orders from Commander Al-Tara.”

Roslyn nodded. “Yes Sister Superior!”

“Now,” said Dantari, rubbing her tired eyes with her finger. “You're all in no condition to represent the Emperor like that, so go and get your armour cleaned up, and then report back here, and I'll see what we can do with you.”

Roslyn looked to her armour, and then Dantari's squad. It was true, their dirt, dust and blood covered armour looked almost nothing like the clean, parade ground ready suits that the other sisters were wearing. Roslyn had so much other things to worry about that she didn't even consider cleaning them was a priority.

“Off with you then,” Dantari said, then walked away.

“That's it?” said Roslyn, to whoever was listening. “Don't they want to know where we've been. What we've been through these last few days?”

Ironheart slapped her on the back. “When all this is over they'll take an intelligence report,” she said. “Right now they have they have more immediate concerns.”

“This... Commander Al-Tara?” Roslyn asked.

Touro nodded, now apparently having regained her composure. “Word has been going around that he's got some big plan to break the ork line. We've all been sitting around waiting to hear something.”

Roslyn glanced to her side. There was still a glaring hole where the pit slave had breached her shoulder armour with his drill earlier in the day. While she hadn't known what to expect once they had regrouped with the rest of the Imperial forces, she'd hoped at least she'd be given some time to rest and recuperate.

“Come on,” Touro said. “Follow me and we'll get that armour hosed down.”

****

It took them about an hour, but eventually Roslyn and the others were cleaned up and ready for inspection.

“Your shoulder has been damaged,” Dantari said. “I want you to check in immediately with one of the PDF's allocated tech priests and...”

“Sister Superior Dantari?” came a shout from across the room.

Suddenly a figure came striding towards them. He was dressed not dissimilar to those of the PDF, but his armour was thicker, and painted in a dark green, and the lasgun he held looked like it was some form of heavier class. It was wired up to a bulky power pack on his back.

“Sargent Roth?” Dantari said, surprised to see the man.

“Commander Al-Tara requests your presence,” he said plainly.

“I will attend to him once I have finished assessing my...”

“I must insist,” Roth cut her off. “The Commander has stressed the urgency of the situation. He wants to see you and all the sisters you have to hand at his command post in Proctor Spire immediately.”

Dantari sighed. “Very well,” then she turned to the sisters. “Sororitas, in the Emperor's name, fall in and quick march!”

“Yes Sister Superior,” they all shouted, with Roslyn lagging behind through tiredness. “In the Emperor's name!”

With stiff muscles and aching joints, Roslyn followed Dantari out of the staging area.

****

As the glass elevator took them up the great length of the spire, the view that it afforded Roslyn really reinforced how beautiful, and horrifying, the whole hive was.

Huge chimneys spewing black smoke raised from the metal below. Whole towers, looking bigger than The Victorium, blocked all but a sliver of daylight from the habitation below. The sprawl of industry and automation made the whole place look more like a living organism than a man made structure, and it reminded Roslyn of a type of fungus that would sometimes grow on the crops back on Carnford.

Yet despite it's grim and uncaring nature, looking down at the hive standing alone and resolute, in the middle of miles of wasteland, holding at bay untold forces of savage xenos, it couldn't help but make Roslyn proud. It was a testament to the resilience of mankind that even out there, as far from paradise as one could imagine, life endured.

The ping of the elevator brought Roslyn back to her senses, and she turned as the metal door slid open.

They were then led out into an exquisite hallway. For the first time in days Roslyn walked without hearing the clank of her powered boots stomping on solid ground, as her steps made little impact with the thick and luxurious carpet. The walls were lined with paintings, which depicted almost decadent scenes of rich spire dwellers indulging in feasts or reclining on plush furniture.

It made her shiver to think there were those that lived like that after she had seen the squalor of the lower hive.

At the end of the hall was a pair of large wooden doors, embossed with the symbol of the Imperial Aquila. Guarding the door were two other soldiers dressed and armed in the same manner as Sargent Roth.

“Adepta Sororitas to see the commander,” Roth said to one of them, and he nodded in return. The guard then, without turning, smashed three times on the door with his fist, and the sound echoed down the corridor.

The door was then opened, and Roslyn and the others were led inside.

The room was large, and must have at one time been inhabited by a hive noble of some kind. The room was highly decorated in gold and silver. Statues of nudes and Imperial saints were indiscriminately placed in areas of prominence. A large fireplace, currently inactive, held pride of place at the centre of the room.

Most of this opulence, however, had been brushed aside, and much more utilitarian military equipment had been brought in and filled the room. Once Roslyn had reached the top of a staircase, they entered what appeared to be some form of dining area, with a large window that looked over the rest of the hive. In the centre of the room had been placed a holographic data unit, which had been erected to serve at the centrepiece of the command post.

By the data-unit, waiting for them to approach, stood two people. One was a woman. She looked middle aged, and her features reminded Roslyn, just for a moment, of Sister Marie. The woman wore the red of the hive's PDF forces, and she held a nervous stare.

The man was much older. He had deep wrinkles running trenches over his slightly tanned skin. He wore sandy coloured fatigues, and a loose headscarf hung around his neck. Whoever the man was, he seemed to be dressed for battle in the dusty wastes.

“Commander Al-Tara,” Dantari said in greeting.

“Please,” the older man laughed. “I've told you before Sister Superior, you can call me Sal. Zheng here is the one in charge. I'm here purely on an advisory basis.”

“An advisory basis?” Roslyn asked curiously.

“Sister Roslyn,” Dantari shot at her. “Did I give you leave to speak?”

Roslyn closed her mouth immediately.

“No, it's quite alright,” Al-Tara said with a slight chuckle.

He walked over to Roslyn and gave her a warm, fatherly smile. As unusual as the sensation was, he reminded her of Prioress Grana.

“Saladin Al-Tara,” he said. “Late of the Tallaran Seventeenth Regiment, currently en route to Perlia for more... scholarly pursuits. We were simply stopping off to refuel when we were caught in the middle of this mess.”

Roslyn smiled nervously, then noticed that Dantari was grimacing at her.

“Oh,” said Roslyn, as she realised the embarrassing silence. “Sister Roslyn, of the Order of the Weeping Martyr,” she said.

“Yes,” Al-Tara said. “They told me that your shuttle went down in the wastes outside. You carried your squad leader to safety on your own back. That was very brave of you.”

Roslyn blushed, surprised that she was getting the praise that her fellow sisters seemed to have denied her. “It was nothing,” she said, and looked to the ground.

“Noting,” Al-Tara said, surprised. “Sister Roslyn, in this galaxy staying alive is everything.”

“Comm... uh, Sal,” interrupted Dantari. “You called us here for a reason.”

“Correct Sister Superior,” he said, before walking back over to the data-unit. “Captain Zheng and I have been formulating a plan to get us out of our current predicament.” He held out a hand to the woman standing next to him. “Captain, if you will.”

Captain Zheng looked nervous, and Roslyn wondered if she too had found herself thrust into authority rather than having sought it out. She pressed a button on the data-unit. A hologram sprang to life, showing a miniaturised approximation of the hive, and the ork forces surrounding it.

“At present the hive is currently under siege from ork forces on the north and west sides," Zheng began, her voice icy with professionalism. "With only the Boiling Sea to the south east, this has essentially cut us off from any potential reinforcements.”

She pressed another button on the unit, and the hologram zoomed in closer, focusing on the main defensive wall Roslyn had been stationed at earlier. Two massive guns, bigger than even artillery cannons, were represented at the north and west.

“The orks have deployed two massive Gargants in an attempt to breach the walls, and currently, they're succeeding. Our western defence gun managed to bring one down, but our northern defence gun was eliminated before it could fire upon the other Gargant.”

“The Gargants are mobile siege engines, artillery, troop transports and anti-air platforms all rolled into one,” Al-Tara interjected. “They're more than a match for the Imperium's own Titans, and only our defensive guns can even scratch the things. Since our other defensive guns can't get a mark on it, it's only a matter of time before the orks breach the northern wall.”

“The main Imperial Guard force currently sent to relive us is holding at Murker Valley to the north, but their anti-Titan weapons are currently behind by a day and half,” continued Zheng.

“The ork mekanics have also been jamming all outgoing communications,” Al-Tara added. “Without any lines to the other hives, we don't know how the rest of the planet is faring. There could be ork reinforcements on their way as we speak, which means routing their forces is imperative.”

“Well,” Ironheart muttered under her breath. “That clears that up.”

“Our only chance is our western defence gun,” he said. “But at present the northern spire is blocking its target.”

The hologram zoomed in further, onto the northernmost part of the hive.

“Here is what we propose,” said Zheng. “The entire northern district has been evacuated. A controlled explosion is planned to bring down the spire. With a line of fire clear for the western defence gun, we can knock out the Gargant, creating an opportunity for the Imperial Forces to counter attack. Trapping the orks in a pincer movement.”

“Despite our communication problems we've been able to stay in contact thanks to old fashioned light signals,” Al-Tara said. “They have craft loaded and ready to stage an areal bombardment once the Gargant is down.”

“Alright,” said Dantari. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“Well that's why I asked to see you,” Al-Tara said. The enthusiasm in his voice quickly dissipated. Roslyn couldn't help but start to worry. “Once the tower is down, the defence gun will still need time to recalibrate to it's expanded range. We've got Engineseers working overtime on it, but it's final process won't kick in until it's range is clear.”

“It won't take long for the orks to realise what we're up to when the tower goes down,” said Zheng.

Al-Tara shrugged. “If there's one thing the xenos do understand it's a big gun,” he said. “The PDF forces here don't have the training or the firepower to hold the gun tower. It's gantry it too tight and too narrow. Not even my Kasikin guard would last long.”

Roslyn swallowed, she knew exactly where his plan was going.

“But your sisters,” Al-Tara said with a smile. “With your power armour and boltguns? You might have a fighting chance.”

“The greenskins will probably throw everything they can at you,” Zheng said without sympathy. “Attack copters, jump troops, you name it.”

“How many of you are trained with heavy weapons?” Al-Tara asked.

“Only two,” Dantari said. “Sisters Ironheart and Chalice.”

“Very well,” Al-Tara said. “We have an abundance of missile launchers and heavy auto-cannons, I recommend you take what you can carry.

Roslyn looked to her right, and noticed a plethora of heavy weapons loaded up in an adjacent room.

“It will be a treacherous mission, sisters,” Al-Tara said sympathetically. “You will have little defensive cover. I pray the Emperor delivers every one of you, but be prepared for the worst. That gun must not fall.”

“It is nothing,” replied Dantari with not a single touch of concern in her voice. “We give our lives for the Emperor willingly.”

Roslyn looked to the floor, and tried to control her breathing. It seemed as though she had fought so hard to get out of one bad situation only to land in a worse one.

Al-Tara nodded, before turning to the others. “Sargent Roth, I want you and your Kasiken to accompany the sisters in holding the guns.”

The guardsman slammed his fist to his chest in a salute. “In the Emperor's name Commander.”

“It is agreed then. We defend the gun with our lives,” Dantari said. “When is our deployment?”

Al-Tara looked to Zheng, who nodded. Then he pulled out a pocket-watch from his fatigues, and checked the time. “How does now sound?”


	15. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Fifteen

By Jack Harvey

The maintenance lift was much more pedestrian than the one Roslyn had previously taken up the spire. As Roslyn scanned it's rusty and oiled gears, she realised it had not been that different in design to the one the outcasts had used in their own community.

“So,” Synthecia said, making small talk to Sargent Roth. “Cadian huh?”

“Yes,” he replied in a frosty manner.

“I heard things aren't going so swimmingly around your part of the galaxy,” she said casually.

Roth didn't reply.

“Must suck having to babysit an ageing general when you could be back defending your homeword.”

“We go where The Emperor wills it.” Roth replied simply.

“Yeah,” Synthecia sighed unenthusiastically. “So what's all this I'm hearing about a Primarch coming back or something?”

“It's true,” Roth said. “Word is he's on his way to address the High Lords of Terra as we speak.”

Synthecia laughed. “Sounds like a load of made up horsedrek to me.”

“Sister Synthecia, sound off,” Dantari shouted at her, before the lift came to a stop and the thick heavy doors in front of them groaned open.

The massive gun lay dead ahead of them. Roslyn was taken aback at the size. It was bigger than most vehicles she had seen. The gun sat on an enormous spherical swivel, which allowed it to fire in any and all directions. Though for now, the towering northern spire framed it in a massive metal triangle.

An industrial crane rocked steadily beside it.

Roslyn nervously stepped forward onto the metal mesh of the gangway, under which she could see nothing but a couple thousand feet drop. She felt incredibly self-conscious, as the other sisters and the Kasrkin casually walked towards the gun emplacement as though they were on solid ground.

Swallowing carefully, and steeling herself for courage, Roslyn marched forward. The wind was noticeably heavy at this level, and she could hear it whistling through the gaps beneath her feet. Fortunately her power armour was heavy enough to keep her footing. She feared that if she were out of it the wind would blow her right off to a fall into oblivion.

Once she had reached the main gun Roslyn scanned the area. Surrounding the emplacement were two maintenance platforms that ran around it in a ring, one slightly higher and smaller than the other.

“Ironheart, Chalice,” commanded Dantari. “You set yourselves up on the higher ring, it should give you a better vantage point for your weapons.”

The two sisters nodded. Chalice lugged her rocket launcher up on to her shoulder, while Ironheart checked the drum of her auto-cannon.

“Roth and I will also be taking positions on the higher platform, to better facilitate our command positions,” Dantari continued. “The rest of you will fire from the lower platform.”

Roslyn looked around. Aside from her, Synthecia and Senna, there were four others in Dantari's squad, including Touro, plus three other Kasrkin. That was ten overall to the lower platform, and very little room to manoeuvre.

Roslyn sighed, and stared out to the horizon. She was starting to become acclimatised to the height. Down below her was the western wall. The red armoured PDF fighters looked like tiny berries at such a distance, and beyond them the orks appeared as though they were nothing more than a sea of green. Despite how grim the situation looked, the sheer scale made it difficult for Roslyn to contextualise it all.

Instead she glanced out further, towards the destroyed Gargant that she had seen all the way over from the shuttle crash. She squinted her eyes, wondering that if she really tried, she'd be able to see the site of the crash, and the wound it had left in the ground.

“Sister Roslyn,” Dantari shouted. “Take, position.”

Roslyn jumped to attention and fell in line. The sisters were all crouched into firing positions. There was no cover, and little more than a railing to stop them falling from the side. Roslyn found herself doubting they would have any chance at all if the orks came for them.

She closed her eyes, breathed in, held her breath, then breathed out. She told herself that she had been through worse. That if she had survived long enough to get Augusta and the others to safety, then she could survive this.

“Emperor of man, overseer of all things right,” she prayed. “Who's power none can resist. Save and deliver us, we beseech, from the hands of our enemies, by granting us dominion over them. Show us the path to victory, that we might produce it in your undying name.”

“Alright,” Al-Tara barked suddenly on the comms. “Implosion is set for five minutes. Prepare yourselves. As I said before, it'll probably be no time at all for the orks to notice the gun. Be ready for anything.”

“In the Emperor's Name,” Dantari called back.

“Uh, yes and all that,” Al-Tara replied.

The next five minutes Roslyn and the other defenders waited in silence. It was the longest space of time she had ever known, and found herself wondering how five minutes could feel so long. In the end, she found herself wishing for the battle to start, as anything must surely be better than the wait.

“On five,” she heard Zheng say over the comms. “Four. Three. Two. One.”

They saw the destruction long before they heard it. An eruption of smoke came from below the spire, and the metal structure began to collapse in on itself. At great speed it spiralled in a cascade towards the ground, clearing the view in front of them.

That was when the sound of the enormous crashing explosion caught up with them. Roslyn had to grip the nearby railing as smoke and dust blew into their faces. Much stronger than the wind, even Roslyn's power armour began to slip in the face of such force.

Once the smoke had cleared, Roslyn glanced forward. There was nothing but clear sky now. Clear sky, and the outline of the massive ork Gargant.

“Tower is down,” Zheng called over the comms. “Defence gun recalibrating.”

“You know what to do,” Dantari shouted. “Hold this gun with nothing less than your lives.”

For a moment Roslyn had hoped that the predictions were off, and that the orks really hadn't figured on what they were up to. Yet as soon as the thought rang through her head, she could see silhouettes rising from the northern line. As they got closer, Roslyn could see that they were small, two man, or two ork, flying machines with twin rotor blades. Despite their clear purpose as scouts, at least a dozen of them had additional orks hanging from the side, hooting and hollering as they made their way to battle.

Roslyn looked down to her boltgun, and flicked the safety off.

“You got this Sister Roslyn,” said Touro. In all the intensity of the moment, Roslyn didn't realise that she was standing beside her.

“Open fire!” shouted Dantari, and was almost immediately followed by the whistling sound of Chalice firing a rocket. The projectile flew through the air in the direction of one of the ork aircraft, but it detonated a little to the left, knocking the craft to it's side, but otherwise leaving it unharmed. This was immediately followed by the thumping of Ironheart's autogun, before being joined by the rattling cacophony of the rest of the squads' boltguns.

Roslyn aimed her gun towards the nearest aircraft and began to open fire. As she did, she noticed projectiles flying up from below, which surely must have been coming from the PDF's mounted guns.

Her gunfire hit one of the aircraft, and it began circling out of control. Another detonated beside it, and the two crashed into each other. A third was taken down by a rocket from Chalice, and two more began to fall, but Roslyn couldn't be sure who downed them.

Roslyn began to breath a sigh of relief as the orks began to fall short of their mark, but before she could catch a breath, another squadron was heading towards them. There were too many to count, but Roslyn estimated that they'd be easily over twenty.

“More contacts!” Dantari shouted. “Keep up the fire.”

Roslyn began shooting again, but this time the orks were managing to account for their gunfire. While another five or six aircraft fell, more were getting closer in range, and began to fire their weapons.

Ork slugs pinged against the metal of the platform, and Roslyn squatted down. She shook inside her armour as another few shots hit her, but she managed to shrug them off. Now the orks were within spitting distance, and Roslyn could see them dangling enthusiastically from their transports.

Four or five of the aliens leaped towards them, with only one missing it's mark and falling into the abyss below. The first to land flung an axe at Senna, but she ducked out of the way and drew her knife.

“We've got orks on the lower platform!” Roslyn shouted, though they all apparently knew it.

One of the orks split a Kasrikn in two with his axe, before being pulverised by the repeating red beam of his comrade's hellgun.

The ork engaging Senna had now been stabbed to death, while another was harrying three other sisters. Roslyn tried to aim at it, but because of their quick movements she was scared she would hit one of her allies.

“Roslyn!” shouted Touro. “Watch it.”

Roslyn turned, along with the ork-carrying aircraft there were now, what Roslyn could only assume, orks with rockets strapped to their back flying towards their position.

“Ironheart,” shouted Dantari. “I want those things taken down.”

However, before Ironheart could start shooting the orks were already upon them. One flew into an ork attacking two sisters, knocking all three of them from the platform. The sisters screamed as they fell, and Roslyn wanted to put her hands to her ears as their terrible fall was broadcast for all to hear over the comms.

Rosyln began firing at the nearest thing she could, felling a few orks that were still gliding towards them. Three came forward, and two fell short of the platform. The remaining one landed right beside her, but was blasted away by Touro before it could do anything.

Roslyn wanted to give her thanks, but was interrupted by Touro before she had a chance.

“Look down!” Touro shouted. “They're coming up beneath us.”

Roslyn could see from the gaps in the platform beneath them that the orks that had fell short of the platform had managed to grab onto the side of the gun tower, and were making their way up. A couple were firing their bulky pistols, trying to take the sisters out unawares.

Awkwardly Roslyn aimed her boltgun. There wasn't much room, but she wagered that the platform had enough of a gap between the gantry and the gun tower for her to be able to shoot through.

She fired, and one of the orks exploded in a shower of blood and viscera before what remained of it fell from the tower and cascaded to the depths below. The other orks, however, were undeterred, and if anything, seemed to be enjoying the battle all the more.

Roslyn fired a few more shots, but they missed. Then she heard the click of an empty chamber.

Roslyn ejected the magazine, pulled back on the gun to check for unspent rounds and then reloaded the boltgun. She immediately returned to firing down at the climbing orks, managing to eliminate both, before hearing an explosion, and turning to look behind her.

Two more sisters had been eliminated by the orks, though how this had unfolded Roslyn wasn't exactly sure. Now there was only Synthecia, Senna, Touro and Roslyn on the lower platform, with the remaining two of Roth's Kasrikn retreating back up the gangway.

“Where are you two going?” Roth shouted, as he noticed that the orks now had partial dominion over their defensive area.

Before they could answer, a massive dark object came screaming over the two Kasrikn, and they were ripped apart by gunfire.

“Emperor protect us,” Roth whispered nervously.

The blurry object came to a stop in the air. It was a massive ork aircraft, cobbled together out of salvaged parts and vehicles. Roslyn recognised one of it's wings as a red Rhino transport, the desecrated corpses of it's original pilots sitting in what used to be it's compartment. Given it's seemingly nonsensical and random design, the vehicle was outfitted with a grotesque assortment of weapons. From heavy machine-guns, to rockets and flamers.

“Commander, we've got a gunship here.” Dantari reported calmly.

Roslyn stared in fear at the thing. Gunfire from below seemed to just bounce off it's sides harmlessly while all around her the other sisters were struggling to fight off the orks.

“We see it,” said Al-Tara. “But it's out of range of the PDF's guns. You'll have to take it down yourselves.”

Chalice fired a rocket at the thing, and an explosion rocked the entire gunship. Poorly welded sheet metal fell from the sides, and it backed away.

“You need to take it down,” Al-Tara shouted. “There's enough ordinance on that thing to blow the entire tower from beneath you.”

Roslyn, however, doubted that they would last that long. The orks were pressing the advantage, and Senna and Synthecia backed away.

“There's too many of them,” Synthecia shouted, emptying a clip into the nearest attacker. “And more on the way.”

Roslyn began shooting, but another aircraft was already unloading more orks onto the platform.

“Ironheart,” shouted Roslyn. “I'm going to need you to take down that transport.”

“I'm already busy with another one.” Ironheart shouted back.

The orks were inches away from Roslyn now. She flipped her boltgun to full auto, and frantically she fired, felling one after the other, but still more came. Touro joined her in shooting at the increasingly crowding orks, but still more aircraft were now approaching.

Roslyn's boltgun clicked and her ammo expired.

Touro's did the same.

The nearest ork grinned and raised it's gun to Roslyn's head.

Then, as though it were an intense feeling of Deja-vous, the ork's skull blew open. Soon, the other orks were also under fire from afar.

Looking to see where the support was coming from, Roslyn noticed a lone figure standing atop the elevator tower at the other end of the gangway. They were concealed under rags, and held aloft a sniper's rifle.

It was undoubtedly Ata.

She raised her hand, and produced a flair, then, from the heavy crane to the left appeared a further score of outcasts, who began firing their weapons at the attacking orks, as well as their airborne transports.

Surprised and elated, Roslyn was taken off guard when the massive gunship flew into view. She jumped to the side as it fired it's many guns at her.

“The cannon is almost calibrated,” said Zheng calmly over the comms. “Just a few more minutes.”

“We've got to take that thing down!” Roth shouted.

“I'm out of rockets,” Chalice replied. “Oh, Emperor it's happening again!”

“Hold it together Chalice,” Ironheart shot at her.

“Kraks,” Roth shouted. “Does anyone have Kraks?”

“I do,” called Touro holding up a grenade.

Roth suddenly jumped from his vantage point down to the lower platform. “Give it to me, and give me cover,” he said to Roslyn and Touro.

They nodded, and aimed their weapons to clear the way for Roth.

“Hey,” Roth shouted, running round to the side of the platform that the gunship was now hanging around. “Over here!”

The ork gunship strafed back, and then, upon noticing, leaned in forward.

Roth then took a running jump.

Roslyn realised what he was planning, but she had no time to lament. When Roth landed on top of the gunship the greenskins inside immediately began to pore out of hatches in an attempt to stop him. Roslyn and Touro fired, trying valiantly to keep them away. Once Roth had managed to fight his way to half the length of the vehicle, he pulled the krak grenade's pin.

All he could let out was; “Happy landing you sons of...” before the grenade detonated.

The explosion turned Roth into red mist and ripped the gunship in twain. One piece fell back, but the other cascaded towards them.

Roslyn didn't see when it hit, but as the ruined gunship impacted against the tower the entire structure rocked back and forth knocking all who remained off their feet.

Roslyn's head was spinning, and the world felt as though it had given way under her.

“I'm down,” shouted Dantari. “Somebody cover me.”

“I'm down too,” followed Ironheart, before the comms were filled with responses and complaints repeating much the same thing.

As Roslyn tried to clamber to her feet, she could see another three aircraft approaching, all brimming with more orks ready for battle. She pushed herself up with her boltgun, quickly reloaded and aimed.

A projectile hit her in her damaged shoulder pauldron, shattering the entire piece of armour and sending a ripple through her body. Her helmet came off with it, and Roslyn fell backwards into Touro, who was still righting herself, and they both hit the ground.

Roslyn watched helplessly as further greenskins pored onto the platform, and other sisters shouted down the comms for aid.

Her head ringing with sound, and her right arm feeling paralysed and unable to grip the boltgun's trigger, Roslyn look up at the approaching orks, and resigned herself to the inevitable.

Then, out of nowhere, like a figure of legend, Sister Chalice dived into the approaching orks, a boldgun held in each hand. She kicked the nearest one to her from the platform, then began firing mercilessly. The orks were ripped asunder, with at least ten going down in a single burst.

As more tried to dive from their aircraft, Chalice rotated and began pumping the guns into it. Only two orks made it across before the craft's fuel detonated, and it took the other nearby vehicles with it.

One of the orks swung for Chalice, burying his axe between her shoulder and neck. She barely seemed to notice, teeth clenched and saliva running from her mouth. Her eyes were ratcheted open. She smashed the ork in the face with one of her boltguns, before firing off into it.

The other ork managed to get behind her, and slashed the weak part of her armour at the back of her leg. She fell, but not before elbowing the ork in the face. It fell back, and she pointed her botguns in opposite directions, wiping out the remaining orks. Once the ammo was spent, she dropped the bolters to the floor and keeled over.

“Gun is recalibrated,” shouted Zheng. “Hold on to something! It's preparing to fire.

As the massive defence gun groaned to life, the spherical swivel began to rotate it in the direction of the Gargant in the distance. Roslyn ducked down her head, and put a hand on the railing.

“Firing in three, two, one...”

Roslyn was rendered deaf and blind by the gun's activation. The sound rattled over all else, and the light emanating from it was like that of a nearby sun. Roslyn shut her eyes, and threw her free arm over her head to block her ears.

Once her senses had returned, she could hear Al-Tara halfway through speaking something.

“...eftct. Imperial forces are on the move. Bombing run is underway. Repeat, bombing run is underway.”

Roslyn painfully got to her feet, and released the struggling Touro who had been pinned under her. In the distance, she could see that the Gargant was a smoking ruin, and that near the horizon behind it, a massive wave of Imperial troops and tanks were charging across the planes. In the air, Fighters were wiping out what was left of the ork aircraft. A dozen or so heavy bombers were gliding to the ork lines.

Something made Roslyn hold her breath when they reached it.

Then, without fanfare, a series of massive explosions rocked the greenskin hoard. They began to scatter, the uniform green army splitting up into smaller groups, and finally her view was blocked off by cascading black smoke as the bombers flew overhead.

She put a hand to her shoulder as the ache of the previous impact still stung. Even the scream of the bomber's engines couldn't distract her from the pain.

“Chalice,” she then said, realising her fallen friend was lying there.

Roslyn ran over, and noticed that Chalice was bleeding from the shoulder wound. Roslyn removed the pauldron to get a better look at it, before pulling some bandages from a side pouch at her belt in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“She fought well,” Ata said, standing beside her. Roslyn hadn't noticed that the outcast had joined them. “I hope your Emperor honours her.”

“There won't be any need for that if I can help it,” Roslyn shot back. “I've lost too many already.”

Ata smiled.

“What is it?” Roslyn said.

“I have never seen someone who's hope is so bottomless,” she replied. “You may possibly be one of the best of us Roslyn of the Order of the Weeping Martyr.”

“I... thank you,” Roslyn said, unsure how to respond.

Ata bent down next to her, and kissed her on the cheek.

“I will make sure our people tell tales of you for years to come,” she whispered, before getting back to her feet.

As she watched Ata walk away, Roslyn felt a tingle inside of her. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, she had never felt more alive.

“Our lines of communication have opened back up,” said Al-Tara frantically. “We're getting through to them. The orks have been routed. The siege is over.”

“Alright, sound off,” Dantari said. “Who's still with us?”

Roslyn looked down at Chalice, who also seemed to be smiling.

“Medic!!” Roslyn shouted at the top of her lungs. "Somebody!"


	16. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> If you enjoy my work, you can find more, and details on how to purchase my books, at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Sixteen

By Jack Harvey

“I'm sorry...” said Chalice through a dry and raspy throat. “Sorry to make you all worry about me like this.”

Roslyn kneeled down by the stretcher and took her by the hand. “Chalice, you saved my life. You saved all our lives out there.” Roslyn smiled. “You have nothing to apologise form.”

Through tired eyes Chalice looked back at Roslyn. “No,” she said. “Sister Roslyn, it was you who saved me.”

Then she yawned, and her eyes began to slowly close.

“Anaesthetic is taking affect,” Brunhild said. “Don't worry, we'll look after her.”

Roslyn leaned forward. “See you soon Sister Chalice,” she said, before kissing her on the forehead.

Chalice smiled as she drifted into unconsciousness.

Brunhild nodded, and escorted Chalice away.

“Alright,” shouted Dantari. “Fall in, fall in, stop gawking.”

While Roslyn had been seeing to Chalice, the rest of the survivors hadn't taken but a moment before they started celebrating. PDF troopers were crowded in the streets, laughing and crying in equal measure, amazed that they had looked oblivion in the eye and walked through it.

The troops of Imperial Guard who had arrived to save them, while still showing a more professional decorum, did not wait all that long to join in the festivities. They sat atop their tanks, waving to the survivors and throwing out rations and supplies to any who wanted them.

Even the citizens of the hive, who not so long ago were furious about their displacement, were now trying to push past the barriers in celebration. Waving to their brave defenders, and blowing them kisses.

Only the stalwart Enforcers, still stony faced and frustrated by the whimsy, remained resolute in their duty. They tried their best to keep troops separated from citizens, but there were too few of them, and bodies began to mix into a melee of hugs and handshakes.

“Sister Roslyn!” shouted Dantari. “Fall! In!”

Roslyn, groggy and tired, shook herself to attention and strode quickly over to the group. She stood to attention next to Ironheart.

“Palatine is on site!” Dantari shouted. “Praise the Emperor!”

“Praise the Emperor!” they all shouted in return.

Out from the crowd of soldiers, looking as though she hadn't slept since Emperor's day, walked Palatine Zennica.

“Sister Superior Dantari,” Zennica said, in more of a mutter than true speech. “I understand we have you and your Sisters to thank for breaking today's siege.”

“We only did our duty Palatine,” Dantari replied proudly. “Though I must say, that it has been an honour to...”

Zennica held up a hand swiftly to cut the Sister Superior off. “How many did we lose?”

“Palatine?” Dantari asked, surprised at her briskness.

“Two shuttles made it to the hive,” she said. “Two Battle Squads and one Retributor.”

Dantari looked over to Roslyn, and for a moment she wondered if she would be the one expected to give an explanation. A moment later, Dantari swallowed, and she straightened up.

“The first shuttle went down in the wastes Palatine,” Dantari explained. “ Sister Superior Ericur was lost in the crash, as were all the other Retributors besides Sister Ironheart and Sister Chalice, who is currently getting medical attention. Sister Superior Augusta was rendered unconscious, and I am told Sister Roslyn led the remaining survivors to safety. Only her and Sisters's Synthecia and Senna survived.”

Dantari was trying to do her best to sound confident and detached, but Roslyn could tell her voice was starting to tremble.

“Of my Battle Squad, Touro was the only survivor, but I can say without a shadow of a doubt Palatine that they all fought with honour and gave their lives willingly in the Emperor's name. They did the order proud this day.”

Zennica put a hand over her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh. There was a dread silence between them while all around celebrations continued.

Eventually Dantari thought it would be best to say something. “Their names will ring out in...”

“That's enough Sister Superior,” Zennica shot back.

Dantari nodded. “Yes, Palatine,” she responded. “Have you any further orders?”

Zennica stared off behind them. It was hard to tell what she was looking at, but Roslyn could safely say that she was paying the sisters no mind. Eventually she sighed, and simply said, “Do what thou wilt.” Then she turned, and walked off into the crowd, a tired gait to her movements.

“What does she mean by that?” asked Synthecia.

Dantari turned back to them. “Well, in the absence of more specifics, I would say that we have a chance to make up for the time we lost on Emperor's Day.” Dantari casually slung her bolt pistol into it's holster. “Regroup here at dawn,” she said. “For now, enjoy the R and R.”

Roslyn looked at the others, surprised. While she felt after the day's ordeals that she deserved an overdue rest, she had expected their reward to be a little more muted.

Dantari had already gone by the time the other sisters started to relax.

“What are we going to do?” she asked them.

“I don't know about you,” Synthecia said putting an arm around Senna. “But we're going to go out and see if we can find an abandoned habitation unit with a comfortable bed.”

“Catch you later,” Senna said, and, arm in arm, they began to walk away.

“Well I'm not too comfortable about relaxing just yet,” Ironheart said. “You saw those orks. How many of them do you think have scuttled away into hiding places?” She lifted up her heavy bolter that she had retrieved from the armoury. “If it's all the same to you I'm going to have a word with Imperial command and see if they need any help doing a sweep of the hive.”

Roslyn nodded. “That's fair.”

“I think I'm gonna' join her,” followed Touro, who somehow looked sadder than before. “Don't really feel like celebrating after everyone we've lost, you know? Might take my mind off it.”

Roslyn smiled softly. “Stay safe Touro,” she said.

“You not coming yourself?” she asked.

“I reckon I'll just go and take a walk,” Roslyn replied. “Have a think about things.”

Touro nodded. “I'll beep you on the communicator if something comes up.”

Roslyn nodded, before watching the two sisters disappear into the crowd.

****

Roslyn finished securing her power armour at the nearby staging area and began to piece together her possessions. She deposited what was left of her medical supplies at a collection point in the corner, and had already secured her boltgun and ammo at the armoury. Finally, in the pouch by the back, she retrieved the credits that the outcasts had given her.

She had forgotten about the collection of brass currency after the battle at the foundry. With the foreman dead, she considered the possibility of giving it back to the outcasts, before realising that she couldn't even begin to figure out how to contact them, and doubted they would really want to see her anyway. Instead she slipped them into her back pockets, and put them out of mind.

Instead, Roslyn cleaned down her black under armour, pulled on a vest, and left to stretch her legs. Amongst the celebrating crowds, she would probably look like little more than another maintenance worker walking from work to home.

Roslyn crept her way through the celebrating soldiers. It was a strange feeling being out of her armour. For two days she had towered over most men, and held the power to crush a person's skull if she so wished. She was simply little Roslyn again, being bumped from one person to another like a feather in the breeze.

The crowds paid her no mind, and she easily slipped between the Enforcers and the citizens. Without taking a moment to consider what her plans for the evening would be, she walked in a daze from concrete platforms to metal bridges. The hive, as before, was like no place she had ever known, and it's winding corridors and elevators revealed new sights and mysteries. A celebrating group of tattooed youths conversed with pale looking figures in grey trench-coats. Roslyn found herself wondering what they were talking about, and how much they truly knew about what had transpired.

Eventually, Roslyn had found her way a few floors up the hive, into what looked like some sort of market. The shops advertised their wears with garish neon signs, while stall holders shouted aggressively about the deals of the day. Business was booming, as citizens of the hive took a moment of relief to relish living another day.

Out of the other side of the market, Roslyn could hear music. It was like no music she had ever heard before, neither the hymns of the order, nor the folk music of home. It was far too loud, and the acoustics were beating repetitively, but it was undoubtedly music.

Roslyn walked over. The establishment looked as though it had at one time been a manufacturing building or a warehouse, but now the stone bricks and metal piping had been sprayed over with paint, and the metal framework had been converted into a massive bar. The lighting had been altered, covering all those within the establishment under a deep purple.

Roslyn walked through the door. Bodies were jumping and writhing beneath the pale light, and she almost blushed at the sight. She had grown up watching men and women politely courting each other at seasonal dances. All that was positively chaste in comparison to these men, women and androgynous others pressing up against each other for intimate connections.

Taken aback, Roslyn made her way to the bar.

“What's your drek?” asked a lanky young man with pink hair and visible bionics.

“I'm sorry?” Roslyn asked.

He made a motion as though he was drinking something.

“Oh!” Roslyn said, feeling stupid. “Uh, do you have anything like grain cider?”

The barman pulled a face. “Never heard of it.”

Rosyln tapped her chin, “How about grist-ale?”

He shook his head.

Roslyn sighed. “What are most of these people drinking then?”

“People drink all sorts,” the barman said. “Scummy is pretty popular.”

Roslyn didn't know what to think of the name, but guessed it would have to do. “A scummy then please.”

The barman leaned down, and pulled out a bashed up looking pint glass. In his other hand he picked up a floppy metal tube. Putting it into the glass, he kicked something beneath the bar, and the tube filled the glass with a foggy yellow liquid.

“One scummy,” he said.

Roslyn held the glass up her nose and sniffed, then she took a slight sip. It was strong, and sour, and felt rough on her throat while drinking. Even so, it was the first alcoholic drink Roslyn had drank in months, so it might as well have been nectar from the Emperor himself.

She smiled as the liquid warmed her throat, and a light headedness immediately came on. She wasn't quite prepared for it to hit her so quickly, but her cares fell away as it did.

She looked around at the people in the bar. _They had come so close to annihilation, and did they even know it?_ Roslyn asked herself if she even knew it. Was it wise to be here, when she perhaps should now be down on her knees, praising the Emperor for showing her mercy?

Roslyn took another drink, and looked around. She was just another face in the crowd. Nobody knew her. Nobody knew of the vows she had taken, or the responsibility she had supposedly sworn herself to.

Nobody from the order would know where she was either.

Then, a hand was on her shoulder. Roslyn turned defensively.

“Well,” said Augusta, standing casually in her vestments. “Nice place you've found here Sister Roslyn.”

Despite her previous reservations, and the fact that Augusta was a superior, Roslyn immediately dived forward and pulled her into a hug. She would happily be reprimanded if it meant she could be close to another friendly face for just a moment.

“Woah there,” Augusta laughed. “It's alright, it's just me.”

“How?” shouted Roslyn over the music. “You were paralysed! Nerve damage! I don't know, I just wasn't expecting...”

Augusta held out her hands and turned on the spot. At the base of her neck, leading down her spine, was a little sliver of metal, that streaked off like a spiderweb either side.

“Courtesy of Hospitaller Brunhild and Engineseer Callisa,” Augusta said, turning back to face Roslyn. “It's a bionic spinal harness. Basically it means I'm back and better than ever.”

Roslyn smiled again, and tears began to form in her eyes. “That's... good,” was about all she could muster to say.

“It's all thanks to you Roslyn,” she said. “Don't know how many other sisters would have just looked at me as dead weight and left me.”

Roslyn nodded.

“I'm not going to lie,” Augusta said with a laugh. “I never thought you'd be taking charge, but you did, and you excelled at it.” Then her eyes dropped to the floor. “Maybe better than me.”

Roslyn's smile fell slightly.

“Well,” Augusta said, laughing it off. “Just don't be surprised if you find yourself up for a Sister Superior position yourself after all that's happened.”

Roslyn couldn't think of anything more bizarre. Her commanding other sisters. Having authority over people like Synthecia and Ironheart. When she had joined the order she couldn't even see herself as a standard Battle Sister. Promotion was the furthest from her mind.

While Roslyn hadn't said anything Augusta seemed to understand. “I know what you're thinking,” she said. Her face had softened and her tone of voice became incredibly sincere. “I just want to let you know, if you want to slip away, I won't stop you.”

“What?” asked Roslyn.

“Look, I know from the day we met you never wanted to be a Battle Sister,” Augusta said. “If you want to go back to the civilian life, now is your chance. Records get mixed up in war all the time. Shouldn't be too hard at all to state you were misidentified and actually died in the shuttle crash.”

“What are you suggesting?” Roslyn asked, her heart beating fast.

Augusta sighed. “You're probably never going to see Carnford again, or not for a long time, but if you put in for work here, maybe barter your way on to a merchant ship... well you might have the chance to get back to something resembling a normal life.”

For a moment Roslyn wondered if this was some kind of trap. A secret test for Augusta to find out where her loyalties truly lied, and yet, there appeared to be no deception in Augusta's words. While Roslyn couldn't truly read the heart of her superior, there was no doubt in her mind that the offer was sincere.

Then, however, she thought of Brother Meany's words. She thought of how the Emperor had put her there for a reason. If not for her, Augusta probably would not have been alive, Chalice would likely have broken down under the stress, and the other sisters might have remained stranded, squabbling over a course of action.

For a brief moment, Roslyn had no idea what she wanted to do.

“Can I... have a few drinks while I think it over?” she asked.

Augusta smiled. “Sure.”

“Can I get you one?” Roslyn asked honestly.

Augusta was taken aback, surprised. “I... uh... wouldn't know what to have.”

“What do you like”? Roslyn asked.

“I don't know,” Augusta said. “I've never drank alcohol before.”

Roslyn giggled. “Well then, let's try what I'm having.”

She ordered two more scummies and they were served forthwith.

Roslyn raised her glass. “I suppose... to absent friends?” she said.

“To the fallen,” Augusta answered.

They both took a gulp out of their glasses, before Augusta spat some of hers out and began coughing aggressively.

Roslyn burst out laughing then. “Oh you precious child,” she said, before taking Augusta by the hand. “It seems I have much to teach you.”

****

Roslyn woke to a splitting headache and looked up. For a moment, the comfort of the bed, and her disorientation made staying where she was and going back to sleep a tempting prospect. However, she remembered that Dantari had told them to regroup at dawn, and didn't want to risk her wrath.

She didn't recognise the roof she was sleeping under. Nervously she shot up. The habitation unit had large arched windows that were criss-crossed in a diamond pattern. Light shone through them like laz fire. The cabinets nearby were all carved from wood, and given the lack of such material in the hive, they must have been very expensive.

Most noticeable of all though was the bed on which she lay. It was larger than Roslyn had ever seen in her life, and in comparison to the humble beds she had known at both the convent and with the order, she felt as though she would sink into the thing.

Augusta lay opposite her at the other end of the bed.

Roslyn shunted her leg forward and prodded Augusta with her toe.

“Aug,” she whispered.

Augusta mumbled something under her breath, but remained immobile.

“Sister Superior,” Roslyn shouted suddenly.

Augusta shot out of bed and stood up. After a second, she realised where she was, and clutched her head painfully.

“Golden Throne!” she cried.

Roslyn didn't wait for her to recover. “Sister Superior Dantari said we were to regroup at the Order's staging area at dawn,” she said professionally. “Are we to proceed with these orders?”

Augusta looked confused for a moment that Roslyn was speaking to her that way. Then she wiped the sleep from her eyes, and straightened herself up.

“This is the last time I ever let you talk me into drinking, Sister Roslyn,” she said. Then she sighed and looked out the windows. “We'd better get going.”


	17. The Trials of Sister Roslyn: Chapter Seventeen and Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Windlass. You can find more of their work at twitter.com/MusketAnna
> 
> Thank you for taking this journey with me. I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. If you did you may want to consider checking out my original writing and comics.
> 
> Tales of the Modern Realms is an illustrated anthology of short stories set in a fantasy world on the cusp of a cold war. It is inspired by old pulp and Noir stories, and aims to imagine what a fantasy setting of elves, dragons and wizards would be like if it reached the technological level of the twentieth century.
> 
> Foul Cheeses and Space Diseases is an illustrated anthology of short stories of various genres. Solve crimes with the nutty private eye Lisa Cummings, suffer through a doomed romance with Kieth Lillyhall or witness the horrible mystery of the Elaney family with Agent Barb Brown.
> 
> The Whitehaven Siege is a comic book about the true history of the only US attack on British soil. John Paul Jones is considered by the Americans as the father of the US navy, and to the British a traitor and a pirate. The truth is often so much stranger.
> 
> You can find out about all of these at eljackscomicsblog.blogspot.co.uk or follow me at twitter.com/el_jackinton or eljackinton.tumblr.com/ .

The Trials of Sister Roslyn

Chapter Seventeen

By Jack Harvey

Roslyn's feet twitched inside her power armour in anticipation. The Victorium had just undergone a long and ponderous docking procedure, and she was getting impatient.

“Sisters!” shouted Augusta. “Stand ready!”

“In the Emperor's name!” they all shouted back.

Then, the docking hatch opened, descending into a large sloped ramp. The sisters began to march, their power armoured boots all stomping in unison and echoing about the massive chamber.

Their march was led out into a huge hanger, but one much larger and far more grand than the one aboard the Victorium. Huge bipedal war machines, covered in the symbology of the Adeptus Sororitas stood looking on, while servitors and tech priests saw to munitions being loaded onto aircraft. Truly massive cargo transports which would have put those used on Carnford to shame, ferried hundreds of crates over to parts unknown.

Roslyn didn't have time to take it all in however, as the Victorium's troop of Battle Sisters were marched quickly out of the hanger and on their way to the main hall. The corridors of the ship felt more like a place of worship than a warship, and Roslyn recognised the statuses of at least three saints as they rounded the corner, and were greeted by nodding Celestians.

The guards pushed the big door open in front of them, and Roslyn gasped.

The grand hall of Sigmund's Blade was probably the most unbelievable thing she had ever seen. Even the sights and sounds of the hive paled in comparison.

The roof must have been higher that most battleships, and was covered in murals depicting great events of Imperial history and of the Sororitas in particular. Squinting, Roslyn could see the tiny figures of techno-seraphim flying out of the rafters.

Up the side ran massive great pillars of white marble, embossed with gold highlights. In between each pillar stood massive statues that were bigger even than the war machines she had passed in the hanger. Their legs stretched out into arches for entire units of Battle Sisters to walk under.

Roslyn looked back at the arch under which they had just entered. Either side of it hung enormous banners coloured in the order's familiar yellow and blue. In the middle of the hall ran massive pews of hard oak. The aisles between could have fit a Rhino transport along them, and probably had at regular intervals.

They were led onto these pews, one unit after another, as the massive hall was slowly filled. The main alter was barely a dot at the other end, but Roslyn could see that massive speakers were placed throughout the hall, to allow all who entered to hear whoever was at the pulpit.

Once the entire hall was filled, the sisters were instructed to quieten down. After a little anticipation, the arrival of the Canoness was announced.

While Roslyn couldn't really make her out due to the distance, her presence was truly felt, as the small silhouette over by the alter carried a massive banner, and flames cracked from a brazier mounted on her back.

There was silence for a few moments more. Then she spoke.

“Sisters new and old,” she said, her voice rough and cracking with age, but booming from the speakers around them. “It is good to have you reunited with the fleet. I have had fears for the Imperium's future, but now, at long last we can start doing the Emperor's work.”

“In the Emperor's name!” they all shouted in unison.

“I have been told of your bravery on Conulor V, and how you braved the greenskin hoard to grant loyal Imperial citizens the deliverance to worship the Emperor once more."

Roslyn smiled. She knew that wasn't exactly how it went down, but she'd take the praise all the same.

“I could spend one thousand words reiterating how proud I am of you all,” the Canoness continued. “But instead I will simply look to the texts to guide us. Let us instead look to the Emperor's own words. An old familiar recital. 'We Live To Serve'.”

The Canoness stepped over to the pulpit, and opened a massive gold-plated book.

“War, which you will know, as it will become your life, has many sounds: the whine of incoming shells, the thud of the noble boltgun, the cries of the dying, and the roars of victory. You will learn those noises well. You are a sister of the Adeptus Sororitas, and with that a symbol of the Imperium. In peaceful moments – which you will learn to treasure in their rarity – take time to think”

Roslyn paused, and looked around her. Her heart swelled in pride, but it was not for herself, but in the knowledge that around her there were sisters just like her. Scared, ambitious, jealous and hopeful, they drew from a whole host of emotions day to day, but they stood together as equals, under the eyes of The Emperor, and whoever else cared to watch.

“Think of your fortune to be counted in the ranks of the blessed and feel a quiet but fierce pride in what you do. You hold in your hands the faith of the Imperium, it's strongest defence against hopelessness. Behind you stands billions of men, women and children, all breathing thanks to you. You protect the hearts and minds of all rightful citizens of our proud empire. Feel your quiet pride, and scream your allegiance so the Emperor himself hears you.”

Roslyn glanced over. Next to her was Synthecia, who seemed to have gotten bored listening to the Canoness and was leaning her head onto Senna. Across the way stood Chalice, looking, for better or worse, more alert and attentive. Roslyn smiled at that.

Across glances she caught Augusta, who was looking over at Roslyn. Once their glances met, she quickly turned her gaze back to the alter with a smile.

“Women of the Adeptus Sororitas,” the Canoness finished. “You and what you do are the pride of humanity!”

The entire room cheered.

****

It had taken Roslyn a little while to find her bearings abroad Sigmund's Blade, and she chuckled a little to herself that she had once found The Victorium difficult to navigate.

Eventually though, she found the pillar she was looking for. It had a single golden skull upon it, which had a scar running through that nobody could agree if it was design or damage.

Roslyn looked left, and then looked right. She made sure she hadn't been followed, then slid around the pillar.

“Well?” asked Touro, who was waiting there to meet her. “What is it I can do for you Sister Roslyn?”

Roslyn didn't say anything, and simply slipped her a piece of paper.

Touro opened it. “Barley? Yeast? Sugar? Houtry leaf?”

“And as big a bucket as you can find,” Roslyn said. “I could salvage one of my own but you could probably do better.”

“Well, it's an odd list,” Touro said, confusion in her voice. “But now we're back with the fleet I should have access to a few more resources.” She stuffed the piece of paper into her vestments. “I've gotta' ask though, what do you need all this stuff for?”

Roslyn smiled mischievously. “I'm going to brew something up that'll show the Order of the Weeping Martyr how to really party.”

Then Roslyn walked away, ready to face what the rest of her life would throw at her.

Epilogue

Canoness Andante peered over the balcony as the Battle Sisters in the grand hall below her went about their duties. To Andante, the small blue and yellow figures that strode past massive statues of heroes past looked little more than toy soldiers. She rubbed he bionic eye, all the better to get a clearer view of her charges. She felt proud of each and every one of them, and the possibility she would be relived of them burnt all the more painfully in her heart.

Palatine Zennica was waiting by the steps down. For a moment Andante thought Zennica was about to begin apologising for the events on Conulor V. She had been charged with increasing the order's membership, and instead it had come back reduced.

To Andante's relief, Zennica said nothing.

The Canoness leaned her weight onto her staff and forced herself up. "Don't judge yourself too harshly Palatine," she said. "Though I charged you with a very specific task our duty to the Imperium comes first. It cannot be helped."

Zennica breathed a sigh of relief.

"However," Andante continued. "Our dilemma has not been resolved. Of new recruits we have little more than breadcrumbs. It is now time we must take more drastic measures."

Zennica swallowed nervously. "What is it you are suggesting Cannoness?"

"As you well know, The Order of the Weeping Martyr's original Convent was thought lost on Diominus VI."

"Yes your grace," Zennica replied. "Twenty years now, deep within Hive Fleet Leviathan."

"Or so we thought," Andante said, pulling out a data slate from within her vestments. "Sixteen hours ago Imperial forces received an SOS from Diominus VI. It seems a modest but tenacious guerrilla force has been pushing back against the Tyranid threat. The planet is far from lost."

"I understand your grace," Zennica said."This is fortuitous news."

"Sector Command is sending an expeditionary force to assess if Diominus VI can be liberated. I have petitioned that our order accompany them, and have been successful. If there are survivors on Diominus VI, then there may be a chance some of our order survives there as well."

A bead of sweat formed on Zennica's brow. Andante could see she was scared. Good, fear is what kept a sister alive.

"Take my orders to the bridge Palatine," Andtane said, turning away and leaning over on the balcony once more. "We set course for Diominus VI."

"In the Emperor's name," Zennica nodded.

"In the Emperor's name," Andante whispered, more to herself than anyone listening.


End file.
